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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364385">Scattered to the Winds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancailleach/pseuds/ancailleach'>ancailleach</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:28:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>51,317</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancailleach/pseuds/ancailleach</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of an argument, Donald, Della, and Scrooge manage to get stranded on the moon, leaving the triplets behind. Enemies are quick to swoop in on the mansion, splitting up the triplets and absconding with Webby just as she'd arrived, leading to a very different experience for all of them. Louie is stolen by Goldie as a souvenir of Scrooge, Dewey and Launchpad end up with the Sky Pirates, Huey is looked after by Gyro who uses funding from Mark Beaks to try and find the other two triplets, and Webby is raised by Magica deSpell (although really, by Lena) to make use of for some dark purpose.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dewey Duck &amp; Launchpad McQuack, Fethry Duck &amp; Huey Duck, Flintheart Glomgold &amp; Louie Duck, Huey Duck &amp; Gyro Gearloose, Lena (Disney: DuckTales) &amp; Webby Vanderquack, Louie Duck &amp; "Glittering" Goldie O'Gilt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>223</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Tragedy of Errors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was probably a mistake to give the spaceship room for three people, in retrospect. Well, in retrospect it was probably a mistake to make the damn thing at all, Scrooge thought. Still, the next version of his spacecraft was definitely not going to be so easily launched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Della and Donald were fighting, as usual. Not that it would be any help now, given that they were rapidly accelerating into the stratosphere and would soon be escaping the gravitational well of Earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The eggs. Good God, the eggs were still on Earth. What if they hatched while they were stuck in space? What if-- Scrooge calmed himself down. Beakley was still down Earthside, along with all his other investors and employees and the rest of the Duck family. Even if they all disappeared for a month or two, the kids would be taken care of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Utterly irrethponthible and reckleth! I thwear, you thschould jutht give your kidth to an orphanage if you keep doing thingth like thith!” Donald yelled, face red with anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, like you could do a better job raising my kids than me, Mr. Anger Management Issues? You’re just mad because you couldn’t even find someone to have kids with!” Della shot back, her arm cocked back and ready to fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kids, please! If we’re going to die out here I’d much rather have it be from the chilling depths of space than us killing each other before we even crash. Della, can you fly this bloody thing or not?” Scrooge interrupted their bickering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sure-- how difficult can it be?” Della answered, sitting down at the pilot’s seat. “I mean, assuming Gyro wasn’t as incompetently obtuse in building this as everything else he’s made, it should be just like flying a plane, so I’m pretty confident that we’ll get out fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s entirely too many qualifiers for me to feel comfortable, but good enough.” Scrooge said, looking out the window as the sky slowly turned from light blue to black. “Donald, you and I need to start bracing for impact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald was already well ahead of him, with three seat belts buckled in around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh please, I’m not Launchpad!” Della quipped. She looked down at the array of controls that were on her dashboard, then back out the window at an ever larger moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She meekly buckled her seatbelt. “Alright, so we may have a bit of a rough landing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thith ith all your fault! I had nothing to do with the planning of thith!” Donald shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh for Lord’s sake Donald, now is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the time for I-told-you-so’s!” Scrooge chastised him sharply. “Better to focus on staying alive in the meantime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald fell quiet, shouting turning into low mutters, but his eyes remained blazing with the same fury as he looked outside and saw the stars coming into view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moon was looking a lot larger now, Scrooge thought. The pockmarks had become more like watermarks, and the white marble was now more like a white bowling ball. Scrooge moved his hand to clutch at his number one dime, but found that the soothing coin was gone. He must have left it in his bedroom when he rushed to see what all the commotion was about.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is just not my week</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Della was sweating, flicking random switches which looked familiar and turning knobs with obtuse labelling like “K.B.D”, hoping to make a difference in their rapidly gaining speed. It didn’t appear to be working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This thing has airbags, right?” Della called back. “Just, y’know, hypothetical question if we have a rough landing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the bloody hell should I know? Gyro invented the damn thing, if you wanted instructions you should have actually let us know you were going on a weekend jaunt to the moon!” Scrooge sniped. “At least tell me you have the manual?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Della chuckled. “Well, you see, I kind of… tore it apart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald started yelling in a fit of rage, his words barely comprehensible to anyone listening. Scrooge didn’t even have the heart to stop him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You blithering, impulsive, absolutely irresponsible, thieving wreck of a woman! What on the good green Earth were you thinking taking this for a joyride without even knowing how it worked!?” He added in, trying to push the line with words that were actually understandable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, we can talk about this later if we’re all alive, okay? For now just let me focus!” Della answered, keeping her eyes on the craters which were now looking rather like large pizzas. “If anything, this is Gyro’s fault! He’s the one who should have made this easier to pilot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, aye, it’s only rocket science-- are you kidding me?” Scrooge shot back, although he ended his repartee there to settle into his seat and get ready to crash. “At least we’ve got plenty of experience with Launchpad. Here’s hoping it’s enough to keep these old bones together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Donald quacked up to add something, but before Scrooge could parse out what he was saying there was a horrific </span>
  <em>
    <span>lurch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then a wrenching howl like a thousand hurricanes tearing through the metal interior of the ship which had rapidly become an exterior. The dust of the moon rose up in a horrific grey plume, and then settled to be savagely still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be a bit of time before anyone realized exactly what had happened. Beakley found it interesting but not entirely unusual that the trio had disappeared into the night, since an adventuring lifestyle did tend towards unplanned disappearances. She found it much more odd when she saw the eggs, abandoned in their nursery. And it was odder still when she found Scrooge’s number one dime, right there on the bedside table. Still, she was confident there was a reasonable explanation for it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Gyro came driving into the mansion driveway like a maniac, waving his hands and yelling about how he’d kill Della, that wasn’t entirely surprising either. It wasn’t until he’d led her to the launch bay for the Spear of Selene and their first radio call didn’t receive a response that Mrs. Beakley allowed herself to feel a sliver of shock and fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, she’d known Della to be reckless. But surely Donald and Scrooge would have reigned her in? Surely-- well, there was a simple way to find the answer to that, now wasn’t there? She made her way to the security room, intent on checking the tapes. Nothing that a simple review of the facts and a cup of tea couldn’t handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a comforting scene to watch. Della, overconfident as always, stepping into the Spear. Then Donald, roaring behind her and following up the ladder. And finally Scrooge, seemingly disturbed by all the noise and only dressed in his nightgown, groggily clambering up the ladder steps into the rocket, just before it lifted off and smashed through the aviary ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Beakley watched her teacup tremble in her hands as Gyro turned off the security footage. So that was it then. She could hear Gyro saying something as the teacup shattered on the floor, but she wasn’t entirely sure of the meaning of the words. All Mrs. Beakley could think about was how awful it was for children to lose their parents before even knowing them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mrs. Beakley? What do we… What do we do?” Gyro’s words finally pierced the cloud of thoughts swirling in Mrs. Beakley’s brain, and she straightened her back. It was times such as these where a stiff upper lip was called for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m already taking care of Webby when she hatches. This just means there will be… three more children to take care of. Not a problem.” She reassured Gyro with a pat on the shoulder. “As for the wreckage, well. I’m sure he’s gotten out of worse, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro spluttered as Bentina calmly made her way back to the main mansion, mentally keeping a leash on how much her fingers wanted to tremble and a dam on the tears she desperately wanted to spill. Not now. Now wasn’t the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bentina Beakley went to bed that day at 4pm, and didn’t wake up the next morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It didn’t take Magica long to figure out that Scrooge had disappeared. He’d made a habit of wearing the coin she was trapped in on a day to day basis, so when she couldn’t sense the old coot wearing it around his neck she knew the old bastard had finally managed to screw up and kick the bucket somehow. A part of her coiled with anger at her lost revenge, but the rest of her could sense the grand opportunity awaiting her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leeeeena.” She cooed to the shadow, words honey sweet. “I have some fantastic news for you. You get to finish our mission, today!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow sighed and flipped her hair. “Right, what dark will am I carrying out this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s fantastically easy. You just slip into an unguarded mansion and take a dime from one of the rooms. I dare say even a child could do it!” Magica informed the shadow, who just glared back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a child, Aunt Magica.” The shadow pointed out nonsensically. Magica tsked. What was with this creature that was so finicky?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes well, whatever you might be, you and I will both be better off once you get that coin. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>be a dear </span>
  </em>
  <span>and retrieve it for me, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow clutched at its heart as Magica gave a mystical </span>
  <em>
    <span>tug </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the creature. “Of course, Aunt Magica! Your will is my command!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magica purred with delight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she would be free from that wretched piece of coinage. And even if Scrooge was gone, well, there were plenty of other Ducks she could wreak her vengeance on in his absence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some hours later, Magica felt the distinct pull of her shadow touching the coin, and then like a great pouring of water she could feel her power burst out bit by bit into the world. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, after so many years trapped in that wretched gold piece, she would be free to weave her dark designs!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room Magica manifested into was dark and austere, much like the man who’d once occupied it. Green blankets and duvets under green pillows, a dreadful Scottish tartan pattern for the rugs. Magica could see her shadow kneeling, and in a fit of gratitude gave her a pat on the head. “Good work, my dear girl!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magica could feel a cackle coming on, and decided to indulge in a deepthroated, evil laughter. “Now let’s see where we can start with a nice bit of </span>
  <em>
    <span>revenge</span>
  </em>
  <span>, shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Touching the gem at her throat, Magica hurled a bolt of dark energy at the wretched carpeting on the floor, staining the green and red pattern black. Well, if there was ever a good reason to cackle, there it was. She let out another deep laugh, flinging open the mahogany doors and striding down the hallways, intent on finding the two little brats working with Scrooge and put an end to their miserable lives. She flung open the door where the girl was supposed to stay and found… </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, how disappointing.” She crooned to her shadow. “Perhaps the boy is still here? It might be fun to watch him go into apoplectics as I drain the life out of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Striding towards the door on the opposite end of the hallway, she flung it open, only to again be greeted with nothing. “Seriously? Did all three go out at once?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magica growled and curled her hand into a fist. “I can’t even get a proper revenge! I want a refund on this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Magica, the housekeeper is still here. She’s asleep for now, but maybe you can wake her up?” The shadow told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good girl</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lena. That old bat’s cheated me out of far too many victories to leave alive. At least I’ll get my satisfaction on </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>of these miserable bastards!” Magica crowed, stalking off to the caretaker’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She flung the door open with a dramatic flourish, spilling in mystic fog to punctuate her entrance. “Behold! I, Magica DeSpell, the heart of darkness and eternal scourge on clan McDuck, have emerged victorious from Scrooge’s feeble plotting!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bentina Beakley, for her part, had taken a dangerous amount of sleeping pills to calm her nerves and slumbered directly through this dramatic entrance. Magica scowled, and slammed down her dark staff to conjure lightning and thunder into the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh well,” Magica sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to settle for slitting her throat while she sleeps. Not as grand as I’d hoped, but I’m a busy woman, things to do, etcetera etcetera. Shadow, would you slit her throat while I ransack the house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What!” The shadow asked her, surprised. “You want me to… to kill her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m not asking you to give her an impromptu tracheotomy, now am I? Come on, good girl, do it quick. Why, I was only 4 when I killed my first person. We can bond about it later.” Magica explained, impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Aunt Magica, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I am going to leave this room and the next time I see you, I fully expect this lumbering lummox of a woman to be dead, do you hear me? Deceased! Not living!” Magica shouted, storming out from the room. “I can’t be bothered to kill her myself if there’s no fun to be had!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Aunt Magica.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied, Magica slammed the door shut behind her and continued to stroll the hallowed oaken halls. Where to even begin? She thrummed with delight, childishly tossing over every random artifact on display and ripping open the paintings on the walls. She didn’t need Scrooge’s money, she at least knew that. She only needed some of his more powerful artifacts, and maybe a few random jewels here and there for her personal collection. As she wandered down the halls, she heard a knocking at the thick doors of the manor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never one to question the good luck of innocent, unsuspecting victims popping up on her doorstop, Magica made her way down to the main foyer. Crackling with mystical energy, she threw open the main doors and summoned a dark shadowy fog, bristling with lightning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fools! Do you know that you intrude upon the mystical workings of I, the great sorceress Magica DeSpell!” She gave a deep, throaty boom to her voice as she shouted that out. The two men who’d knocked on the door turned and ran, leaving some kind of package carelessly behind. Unfortunately for them, there was no one on Earth fast enough to outrun Magica’s power. With a burst of dark energy, she dragged the two screaming into the shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, how she had missed this. The terror, the fear, the last strangled cry of a victim as the underworld took him to the depths of the Abyss. Absolutely wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Magica turned around, the shadow was there, looking horrified. “Oh, don’t worry dear girl, they’re just suffering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aunt Magica, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>carriage</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The shadow pointed at what the two men had been delivering-- a pink carriage embroidered with the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Webbigail</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! So Scrooge had some brat he was hiding from me, eh?” Magica cackled and ran a finger down the egg’s side. “Well, if I can’t have Scrooge, at least I can end his offspring!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Magica raised her hand to crush the fragile thing where it lay.</span>
</p><p><span>`</span> <span>”Wait!” Her shadow cried out.</span></p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what is it now?” Magica cried out, exasperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t it be even more evil to take Scrooge’s offspring, your hated enemy, and make her part of your family? Then, you wouldn’t just take out the McDuck name, you’d even be making them do your bidding!” The shadow offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Magica lowered her fist. “You do have a point. It would certainly be quite devious to have this child raised to destroy her own family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. And then, once you’ve accomplished that, you can reveal the truth for it to be the ultimate twist!” The shadow added. “That’s like, way more evil than killing her right now as a baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Lena, I was so wrong about you. Here I thought you were lacking that ruthless spirit, but you’ve really impressed me tonight!” Magica cooed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have?” The shadow asked, then perking up. “Of course I have! We’re like, a part of each other, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes. Now, let’s all go home together… as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Magica said, waving her staff to create a portal around her, the shadow, and their brand new minion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’d be difficult to say whether or not Launchpad had intended to take Dewey with him when he left the house. Maybe there was a part of him that had assumed the ‘D’ written underneath the plaque stood for Darkwing Duck instead of Dewey, or maybe he’d just thought it’d be a cool centerpiece for his apartment. Maybe he wanted to raise the kid with a pilot’s lifestyle, like Della would have wanted (although how he missed the other two eggs to raise would be a mystery.) Regardless of whatever thought process led to him taking the egg home, he took it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Launchpad was pretty young to be a dad. A 23-year-old high school drop-out bachelor who had unknowingly just lost his job isn’t exactly the type of person who springs to mind when you picture a father figure. But he gave the egg a special cushion on his couch that he thought was extra comfy, and kept it piled under blankets to make sure it was warm enough, and even left the wrestling on TV when he was gone so the kid would get some educational stimulation while he slowly realized that Mr. Scrooge really wasn’t coming back this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh boy, I’m so not going to make rent this month.” Launchpad told his new little buddy as he looked down at the last paycheck he’d gotten. “Plus like, you need clothes, and stuff. And milk? Do baby ducks drink milk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Dewey suspiciously, before opening the fridge and putting a carton of milk on the table in front of the egg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, take a sip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The egg, predictably, did nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I get it!” Launchpad stood up in realization. “You don’t like other people watching you when you eat. That’s cool, I’ll just go to my room and internally panic over everything happening in my life right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon closing the door to his bedroom, Launchpad immediately sank into his bed and let out a long sigh. The McDuck air pilot internship had been the only program willing to take him on, and now his boss was like, dead or something? And even worse, he had no source of income or anything to fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Launchpad flipped the radio in his room on, hoping to catch some rocking tunes to perk him up. Instead, somehow Launchpad was tuned into a frequency he’d never heard before in his life-- the publicly broadcast news station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In other news this week, Sky Pirates have been attacking Cape Suzette. You heard that right, pirates in the sky on a giant airship have been using airplanes to plunder the city! Their leader, Don Karnage, has said every dashing pilot who wants a fortune is welcome to join him--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Launchpad switched the station, turning it onto static as he searched for something enjoyable to listen to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Man, if only there was a way I could still be a pilot and get some money.” He lamented as the first strums of an electric guitar came through the static.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a second!” Launchpad straightened up. “That boring radio guy said there were a bunch of air pilots in Cape Suzette!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He burst out of his darkened room, making his way back to the egg he’d taken with him. “Dewey, quit chugging that milk and get ready to pack! We’re flying to Cape Suzette!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The egg didn’t react to this at all, but Launchpad hardly noticed as he took a random grocery bag and started shoving clothes into it. “Oh man, Dewey, you’re gonna love Cape Suzette! They have waterfalls, and flying, and… uh, actually, I don’t know what else they have there, but we’ll find out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked in his closet at the array of leather jackets and pilot’s goggles there. “What do you think Dewey, would Dan Carnival prefer a crop dusting jacket, or a bomber’s jacket?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held the two jackets up for Dewey to look at, who predictably said nothing. “It’s ok, little buddy, I think fashion’s hard too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settled on the crop dusting jacket, made out of denim, and shoved it into the grocery bag. “Alright, let’s get some food for the road and we’ll be good to go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Launchpad opened his pantry and took two bags of chips and a jar of peanut butter. “There we go. We’ll be able to make it for at least like, a week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The egg seemed to look at him, disappointed. Launchpad smacked his head. “Oh, of course! We’ll be sure to get you milk too, little buddy. Don’t worry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Content to have reassured his new little pal, Launchpad scooped up the egg and made to toss all of the bags into the car, determined to start their new life in Cape Suzette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive was relatively harmless, a first for Launchpad. Everytime he thought about ‘getting dangerous,’ he’d suddenly remember the little dude in the seat behind him, and slow the car’s speed down to 35 miles an hour and suddenly look in every direction to make sure he was safe. This didn’t work quite so well on the freeway, but fortunately it was so late that Launchpad didn’t run into much traffic. Cape Suzette was only a few hours drive away, but Launchpad was so careful he managed to turn it into a day’s trip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He filled the spare time talking to Dewey, trying to get to know the little guy in his back seat. Dewey wasn’t much of a talker, but Launchpad was pretty sure once he felt comfortable he’d start to open up. After all, what kid wouldn’t feel bad after losing his family? So Launchpad talked about wrestling, and flying, and adventures, all the stuff he thought was cool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then there was this one time I tried to juggle you and your brothers--”  Launchpad suddenly slammed on the breaks. “Wait, wasn’t there three of you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pondered that for a moment. “Nah, I must not be remembering that right. So anyway, I was trying to juggle you and two other, unrelated eggs, when suddenly your Mom got mad at me! Crazy, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey didn’t say anything. Launchpad rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Oh yeah, you might not feel comfortable with me talking about your Mom. My bad, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey sulked in the back car seat. Launchpad kept quiet while he was driving. It wasn’t until a plane landed in front of him on an empty stretch of highway that Launchpad brought the car to a halt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Halt! In the name of Don Karnage, give us all your stuff!” Somebody shouted from the cockpit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey!” Launchpad waved at them. “I don’t know who Don Karnage is, but I’m looking for a, uh, Dan Carnival? The sky pilot guy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The person in the cockpit stared at him blankly. “Do you mean the sky pirates?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pilots, pirates, whatever really. I’m just looking for a job! I used to have an internship but then my old boss died or something and now I’m out of a job? Plus I’ve got this little guy to look after!” Launchpad jerked a thumb to gesture towards the backseat. “Say hi, Dewey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The egg, predictably, said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s shy.” Launchpad explained. “Don’t worry, he’ll grow out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” The sky pirate replied, not entirely sure what to say. “Well, the boss is looking for anybody. We’re kind of low on people right now…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I have no money and am willing to do literally anything to have a job.” Launchpad reassured the person he assumed was a job interviewer. “Like, I could literally fly your plane back to wherever you came from!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Look, give me your stuff and get in the plane with me and I’ll see if the boss wants to take you on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Launchpad nodded, picking up the bags he’d filled with supplies and his most precious treasure, Dewey. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>killing </span>
  </em>
  <span>this job interview!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made his way over to the plane, shoving his stuff into the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all you’ve got?” The interviewer asked him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. You’ve gotta travel light if you’re going to start a new life, you know what I mean?” Launchpad answered. “Besides, I’ve got the most precious treasure of all… family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He punctuated the word family with a pat on Dewey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Well, I guess it wouldn’t have been good to rob you then.” The pirate said, starting up the engine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, yeah, I’ve got no money. Wait did you say rob me?” Launchpad asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? We’re pirates. It’s kind of what we do.” The pirate replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Ooooooh. Oh! Oh no.” Launchpad vocalized his mental pathway to realizing the exact situation he’d gotten himself and Dewey into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the crew, matey!” The pirate laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dr. Gyro was, in the politest sense, freaking the hell out. Mrs. Beakley was just-- gone, her room empty and the house uncleaned. Wherever she’d gone, it looked like she’d take her granddaughter and one of Della’s kids with her. He sat, watching the two remaining eggs in the nursery. As long as he never stopped watching them, it would be fine, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d called the police, of course. The board and family were still trying to figure out how, exactly, the custody situation would be worked out. Fortunately the kids hadn’t hatched yet-- Gyro didn’t even know how he could explain this to them if they had been asking questions about their mother. That he’d directly created the thing that sent their closest family to die in the wastes of space?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’d managed to lose one of them because Beakley had decided to go AWOL now that Scrooge was gone, which was great. Just great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the two eggs left when there was a ringing from the door, most likely the police. Gyro got up, but then realized-- if he left to answer the door, he could lose another one. But if he didn’t answer, then the police would just leave!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Think Gyro, think! You’re a genius, use your damn brain! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought to himself, contemplating the problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He thought to himself, picking up the egg named Huey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can just take them with me, then they’ll be sure to stay in my sight! Two birds, one stone. Gyro, you are a smooth operator</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem came when he tried to pick up the egg with the-- what was it, the Welsh name? Lou-Ellen? Both eggs were two big to carry at the same time. Gyro panicked internally as the doorbell rang for a second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I’ll just carry this one. I mean, if I’m fast enough getting back I can make sure they’re both still here, right?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Gyro reassured himself, his feet wobbling as he made his way to the ruined main foyer, egg in hand. He opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two police officers, both hawks, were there. “Dr. Gearloose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, that’s me. Hurry, quick! I’ve had my eyes off the other egg for too long already!” Gyro said in a crazed undertone, grabbing one of the officers by the neck and dragging him along. “I was gone for one day, I trusted that sneaky Mrs. Beakley, and what happens? A kidnapping! She takes the blue one and runs off with him, leaving the other two behind, and me to deal with everything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro flung the door open to the nursery, and his heart stopped for two whole seconds. The other egg was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clutched Huey tighter as he clamped his fingers around the officer’s neck like a vise. “Oh no. No no no, not again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer choked, then pried Gyro’s fingers off of his windpipe. “What’s the issue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was another one. Oh my God, he can’t just be gone, I left for like 5 seconds!” Gyro whirled around and pointed an accusatory finger at the police officer. “You! You distracted me! I bet you were in on this plot all along, huh? Get out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you called us here--” The officer started to protest, but Gyro shushed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You being here just lost the second triplet in as many days! Ugh, you’re all useless, you know that? Don’t even bother looking into this, I can find those boys </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thank you very much!” He kept pushing the two back into the main foyer. “Now, unless you can give me access to a laboratory and funding, I recommend you two go back to the station and do whatever it is you two have to do in order to get out of my feathers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slammed the door in their faces, whirling around on his heels to stalk off and find a lab in the manor. He clutched Huey tight in his arms as he did so. “Don’t worry, Huey, no one is going to lose you, or steal you. I’ll make sure of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One jerry-rigged garage and finagling of computer pieces later, Gyro had successfully gotten a tracker around Huey that would send his location to Gyro’s wristwatch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright! Now I can finally relax a little.” Gyro sat down. “I mean, how do you lose two eggs right after losing the rest of the family? It’s absolutely crazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro started thinking about the rest of the Duck family, and who would get custody of the sole remaining triplet. Gander? A piece of garbage not fit to look after a roomba, let alone a child. He’d always somewhat liked Fethry, given that he had something of an inquisitive mind, even if he was an idiot. And that underwater lab would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>secure</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nobody was going to steal this last Duck. Gyro was going to make sure of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made his way to the can connecting Fethry to the outside world, and for the first time in his years of working out in the ocean, Fethry received a call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, hello! Scrooge? Is that you? I’ve got so much to tell you, it’s been so long since the last time you called!I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t Scrooge.” Gyro cut him off. “This is Dr. Gearloose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Dr. Gearloose, it’s great to hear from you! Are you going to be coming down here soon? It’s been awhile since you did anything underwater.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- Yes, I’ll be coming down. Probably for a long time. Listen. Fethry, I have some bad news. Scrooge is-- Scrooge is gone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro let Fethry take that in, and he could hear the suddenly faster paced breathing on the other end of the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, gone-gone?” Fethry asked. “Like, he’s dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid so, yes. At least it seems that way.” Gyro confirmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s awful. I mean, it’s not like he wasn’t pretty old, but wow. I always thought that guy was going to outlive all of us, y’know? How are Donald and Della taking it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro took a deep breath. “They’re… also gone. All three of them went out in the same crash, and it’s been something of a disaster since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. The kids! What’s going to happen to them? Do they need a guardian? Because I’m more than willing to step up if they need that--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of them does, actually, yes. Fethry, say hi to Huey!” Gyro held the egg up to the phone. “He’s not hatched yet, but he probably will soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Huey.” Fethry said blankly. “But weren't there three of them? I could swear Della had triplets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been kind of a stressful few days, Fethry-- they’re also gone. But I’m going to find them! They’re not dead, I know that much. Or at least I-- no, they’re definitely alive. They’re alive, and I’m definitely, 100% going to find them.” Gyro reassured himself out loud. “Listen, I’m probably going to stay with you at the ocean lab for a while, just to make sure nothing-- nothing bad happens. Two of them disappeared already, so I don’t want to leave Huey alone without any defenses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus… do I need to be worried?” Fethry asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You? No, I don’t think so. I’m not even sure if anyone knows how to get out to the lab anyway, it’s so far out of the way. That’s part of why I trust Huey being there more, you know? And when I get there he’ll have two people as smart as whips protecting him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. But with Scrooge gone, who’s funding the lab?” Fethry asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure. I’ll find someone. Someone with deep pockets and who’s completely gullible. Whoever they are, I’ll let you know when I find them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, Gyro’s cellphone rang. “Fethry, I’ll call you back, I have to take this.” Gyro slammed the tin can down, cutting off Fethry’s questions and protestations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello! This is Mark Beaks, I’m calling because I heard your boss just like, died or something? And I figured hey! I need a new tech developer guy, you need a new job, let’s make a deal!” The gratingly cheery voice on the other end of the phone piped up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A deal.” Gyro deadpanned. “Listen, unless you have billions of dollars I don’t think you can afford to make any kind of--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well y’know the best thing about angel investors is that they do, in fact, give me billions of dollars. My company is drowning in that cash flow! I mean, we’re not quite profitable yet, but that’s what you’d be for, right?” Mark said on the other end of the line. “I’ve got the social media savvy to market anything you invent buddy, all you have to do is make it. Sound like a good deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a… great deal, Mr. Beaks.” Gyro forced out. “I have a lab out in the middle of the ocean that I’m using, would you be able to fund it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The billionaire on the other end made a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmm </span>
  </em>
  <span>noise. “You know what, I’ve got an even better idea-- OceanPods! A vacation destination under the sea, no locals making noise about you stealing their land and driving up property prices, and a totally sweet place every influencer would want to go to! Great idea, doc, I’ll fund it!” Beaks said on the other end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that really seems like a bit of overkill, honestly. We really only need a little bit of money to keep it running.” Gyro tried to walk back his initial proposal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be modest, dude, this will work out great! In fact, I think I’m going to personally dedicate myself to this idea. Who doesn’t love island living?” Beaks ran over Gyro’s protests. “I think this is the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership, doc.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro looked over at Huey. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If nothing else, I need money to get his family back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...You know, I think so too, Mr. Beaks. Happy to be working with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Goldie O’Gilt did not believe Scrooge McDuck was dead. Sure, the news said it, and his doctor said it, and there was footage of the rocket taking off, but really? Scrooge McDuck, killed by space? Absolutely impossible. No way. If he was going to go out, he’d take the whole world with him, no question about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, if he was stranded on the moon, it did leave his mansion up for grabs, and Goldie was never one to say no to free money. So she tricked some old guy into giving her his car and made her way down to McDuck Manor, ready to rob the place blind. Maybe, if she was feeling nice, she’d even leave him a note.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The security was still tight, of course. Laser traps, pressure plates, spike pits, and the like. As if Scroogie could design a security system she couldn’t dance her way through in a few seconds flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The manor was-- well, a wreck. Geez, Scrooge must have fired the help before he died, because whoever caused this mess was definitely not happy with him. Random busts had been crumbled, priceless pots shattered, and paintings ripped at the seams. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell happened here? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Goldie thought to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to answer her question, a door swung haphazardly open to what looked like a nursery. Goldie peered in, seeing one of Scroogie’s scientists keeping a laser focus on something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, this is a disaster.” The scientist muttered to himself. “But it’s okay, because he’s Scrooge McDuck, right? Even though he didn’t answer any radio signals. Or send any kind of signals. Even though Della Duck, the literal best pilot in the world, had repeatedly told me she didn’t have to learn how to fly a spaceship. They’re all… they’re all fine. Sure, two kids are missing, but Mrs. Beakley probably has them, right? This is probably all part of some kind of plan. Some weird, kidnap-heavy plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie rolled her eyes. That’s what people got for being attached, being wired to a hundred percent and lying to themselves about what was really happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And besides, there was no way Scrooge was really dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gently shutting the nursery door so as not to make a sound, (not that she thought the egghead would notice) Goldie made her way down the main hall to find the good stuff. Even if that tower of a housekeeper had broken everything out in the open, Goldie knew a few places where Scrooge tended to hide his stuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the study, Goldie popped open the hidden drawer underneath Scrooge’s desk, revealing a trove of diamonds. She swept them straight into her purse, then made her way to the locked chest Scrooge kept by the firepit. Pushing the chest back, she found a trapdoor and popped it open, revealing a knife made out of diamonds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, don’t mind if I do.” She muttered to herself, sheathing it into her belt. She looked up at Scrooge’s portrait, curled black with ashes at the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t guilt trip me about this, old man, you know as well as I do that you’ll be back down here in a year tops.” She said. “And besides, if you’re dead then it’s not like you’ll be using any of this anytime soon. Might as well go to me instead of one of your blockheaded nephews.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The portrait said nothing in response. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, I’m going just as crazy as the guy downstairs.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Goldie thought to herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No more talking to inanimate objects for the day!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She made her way back downstairs. The mansion was starting to feel weirdly… creepy. Not that Goldie hadn’t faced plenty of curses and ghosts before, but something about the place just felt off. It was missing that Scrooge energy she was used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling odd, Goldie headed back downstairs. This was supposed to be fun, but really, all Goldie felt was exhaustion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Goldie made her way to the window she’d stolen out of, the doorbell rang. Freezing in her place hiding behind a curtain, she heard the patter of frantic footsteps as the scientists bolted towards the door. Certain he was gone, she decided to check the nursery out of… curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had clearly been designed for triplets, but only one egg sat on its pillow, labelled with the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lewellyn</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>. </em>
  </b>
  <span>She looked around-- the Lewellyn egg was clearly supposed to go with all the green stuff around here, but the red and blue pillow labelled Dewford and Hubert were missing their eggs.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Didn’t the scientist guy say two of the eggs went missing? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Goldie thought to herself. She guessed that was why only this one remained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This last egg, quite possibly the only living connection to Scrooge left. Not even able to explain to herself why she was doing it, Goldie tucked the egg under her arm and slipped out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the O’Gilt family, Lewellyn. You’ll do a lot better with me than the orphanage system, I can tell you that much.” She whispered to it. “And then, when you turn 18, you’re going to give me a huge cut of your inheritance as a thank you for taking care of you. You got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The egg, of course, said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll talk about it when you’re older. Come on, kid, let’s hit the road.” Goldie continued, deciding that talking to the egg didn’t count as talking to herself since technically speaking the egg </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to ignore the shriek that came from the mansion when they found out the kid was gone. She’d stolen him fair and square, and that was final. She hopped over the fence, careful not to drop the fragile cargo (and felt strange for thinking that about something that wasn’t stolen treasure. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>stolen</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sure, but not treasure) while sticking the landing. Crossing the road into the dense thicket of forest, Goldie left no trace of where she could have been as she made her way closer to the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally popped out on the other side, she stuck out her thumb with the egg prominently displayed, playing the part of the haggard expectant mother. She’d gotten on a truck in less than five minutes after explaining her car had broken down and she really needed to get to a hospital so her son could be properly looked at for hairline fractures in his shell. Goldie didn’t even know if that was a thing, but figured that she might as well make sure the egg was up to snuff while she was there. It wasn’t like she couldn’t pay for it, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hospital receptionist was a nice old dove, her face creased with more wrinkles than even Scrooge’s. “Hello, dearie. Are you here to check up on your egg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie gave her a confident smile. “Yes, of course. You know, I’ve had him for so long but I haven’t even had the time to register him! Do you have any paperwork I could fill out for that while you check him for anything wrong medically?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old dove gave her a stern look. “Oh, you can’t be working so hard when you’re an expectant mother, you know. Just because an egg is easy to cart around doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be attentive! I’ve got the paperwork right here for you. The doctor will see you shortly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie took the paperwork and gave an obsequious smile. “Oh, of course. I’ve been meaning to get time off but since the husband left, you know. It’s hard to find the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That got her back on the sympathy train with the old coot. “Oh, you poor dear. Men are just the worst, aren’t they? Never taking any kind of responsibility.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! I feel like I’m the most responsible person in my life!” Goldie agreed. “Men just go gallivanting on adventures, or get stuck on research projects, or get in a space rocket to go to the moon and leave without any kind of warning--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie cut herself off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was way too personal</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, the old dove didn’t seem to have noticed. “At least the doctors here can be responsible. If they don’t pay enough attention to their wives I drive them out of the office! Ha, that usually fixes them right up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Well, I’ll be filling this out then.” Goldie replied awkwardly, making her way back to the seat she’d sat Lewellyn down in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking down at the form, she wrote into the last name box </span>
  <em>
    <span>O’Gilt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Louie, you’re legally part of the family now. Congratulations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The egg continued not to say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. You’ll appreciate me when you’re older.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hospital waiting room was cold, and white, occasionally mixed in with pieces of grey. Probably a lot like the moon Scrooge was definitely not dead on, when she thought about it. Didn’t he even know the goddess of the moon in the first place? How did anybody even get trapped on the moon when they had an in with the lady who owned it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were probably all having a laugh with Selene right now and working on fixing the ship, and when they all got back together she’d help them find the rest of the triplets and they’d all laugh about it. Probably. Definitely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Mrs. O’Gilt?” The doctor called from behind the hallway. She snapped up, eyes wandering over to the hound who was dressed in a lab coat. “You needed to look after an egg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie sniffed, and nodded. “Yes, yes! Sorry I was so distracted, it’s just been a busy day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Mrs. O’Gilt, hormonal and emotional unbalance is part and parcel of the egg rearing process.” The doctor assured her. “Once he’s hatched, I’m sure you’ll be feeling back to normal in no time,”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s not even my kid, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wanted to spit in the doctor’s stubbornly tranquil face, but instead she just nodded and came along with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>45 minutes later, the doctor was telling her about how her son had a clean bill of health and should be hatching in the next few weeks if everything went according to schedule. She thanked the doctor and took the egg out with her, tossing a diamond at the receptionist to pay.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Webby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Webbigail DeSpell was 10 years old, and her Mother was probably the scariest person on the planet. Super cool too! But also just, really, really scary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t that Webby didn’t like learning dark magic and how to control shadows and stuff like that, that was super cool! And even though Lena didn’t really enjoy all of the ‘family bonding’ activities involving dark rituals and stuff like that, sometimes Lena and Webby made neat little charms that bound them together with friendship, which Webby really liked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But on the mornings Webby woke up and looked out the window at the dismal grey skies, and the land outside the castle, she wondered if they couldn’t move somewhere a little bit sunnier. Lena said that they used to live in Duckburg, before the Beagles took over and changed the name. Mother just said that they were lucky not to be trapped inside of a coin for five years, which Webby didn’t really get but always got Lena to shut up really quick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena knocked on Webby’s bedroom door. “Yo, Webby? You awake yet? I’ve got some pancakes with your name on them and if you’re not downstairs in 5 minutes they’re all mine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m up!” Webby cried out, dashing out of bed to grab a black skirt and button up shirt from her armoire. “Don’t eat my pancakes!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t knoooow, they do look pretty delicious kiddo.” Lena teased through the door. “You better be quick if you don’t want me to fall to temptation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby shot out the thick door like a bullet. “I’m awake! Lemme at those pancakes!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena smiled. “Alright, nice to see you up and at’em today, soldier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! Is Mother going to be at breakfast today?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope! This morning I get you all to myself.” Lena declared with a smile, wrapping Webby in a hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Webby said, looking down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up, kiddo? You know Aunt Magica’s like, kind of crazy, right?” Lena asked. “She’d probably yell at me for burning the toast or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I just kind of wish she was here at times when she wasn’t just teaching me magic, you know?” Webby said. “I feel like she doesn’t really want me, she just wants my work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Aunt Magica isn’t exactly great with kids.” Lena agreed. “But hey! That’s what you’ve got me for, right? Sisters from other misters!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby smiled. “Yeah, sisters from other misters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now c’mon, those pancakes aren’t gonna eat themselves, right? And you’ve got a big day today, too.” Lena added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, what? Was that today?” Webby complained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s not every day a witch binds her first demon. I think Aunt Magica has something special planned for you.” Lena said. “You might even get a cake!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, from one of the golems? Their baking sucks.” Webby pouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s free!” Lena pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s probably why it sucks! Why can’t we just go out and have a normal dinner for once?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because Aunt Magica is a wanted criminal in like, multiple countries? C’mon, kiddo, we’ve talked about this.” Lena pointed out. “Have you been watching TV again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All I want to do is go out to a restaurant and eat a hamburger. Is that too much to ask?” Webby pouted again. Lena lifted her hand up to her forehead, which Webby knew meant she was winning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, it’s not even like Aunt Magica would have to know, right? We’re not wanted criminals in ten countries, so we could totally do that!” Webby exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, maybe. But only if you eat all of your golem cake, and only after you got that binding done with Aunt Magica, alright?” Lena caved in, coating an errant pancake in syrup. “And we have to be back before midnight!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Deal!” Webby exclaimed, poking a fork into her pancake. “Aaah, I’m so excited! I get to eat a hamburger! This is just like High School Drama Teens!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got to watch less TV, kiddo. That show isn’t anything like actual high school.” Lena said, concerned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, like you would know.” Webby rolled her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been stuck looking like I’m 15 for 10 years, Webby. I’m pretty confident I know what high schoolers are like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re just jealous that you don’t have a bunch of random attractive people to watch make out in a way that’s very chaste.” Webby teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh, no. Stop being gross, Webby, you’re not even supposed to know about that kind of stuff for like, another ten years at least. Spare your older sister the heartbreak at your lost innocence!” Lena protested, putting a hand to her heart in mocking pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby grinned as she tore into her pancakes. Lena smiled, sitting back to enjoy the casual happiness of the small moment before Aunt Magica inevitably came home. It was only once the breakfast was done and there was the maximum amount of mess that the portal flared open and Magica stepped through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, darlings!” She declared, waving a hand as a dramatic flair for her entrance. She looked around the kitchen disparagingly. “Lena, clean up this mess at once! It’s totally unsuitable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Aunt Magica.” Lena gritted out through her teeth, taking Webby’s plate and her own to throw in the sink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Webby, dear, pull me a chair, I’ve had such a busy day!” Magica exclaimed, letting a sack drop from her other hand. “And it’s all been for you, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Mother!” Webby exclaimed happily, pulling out a chair beside her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, thank you dear. So, are you excited for your special day?” Magica asked as she heaved her lithe weight into the wooden seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know… what if I don’t bind it right, and things go terribly wrong?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then I’ll be there to catch you and make sure things go terribly right, darling, don’t be stupid. It’s not fitting for somebody in our family.” Magica shut down that line of thinking. “After today, your already incredible magical powers will be doubled! That’s the power you can get from binding demons and shadows.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, just don’t ask the shadows whether or not they want to be bound.” Lena grumbled sarcastically as she wiped down the kitchen table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Silence, girl. Don’t be impudent. Anyway, we won’t be starting with anything too difficult. He’s a tiny luck vampire, used to feed off of others' good fortune. Once you bind him, you’ll be able to take other people’s good fortune for your own.” Magica explained. “The worst case scenario, you make sure not to play any games of cards for a month or so and you’ll be fine!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, if you say so.” Webby said softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Well, if you’re about finished being delusional.” Magica fixed Webby with a hard </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That was the look Webby associated with her Mother being the scariest person in the world. That and her mallard green skin and slitted pupils, the cold calculating glitter in the gold there could be absolutely terrifying. The only thing it felt like Webby had even taken from her mother was the black hair, and even that came from bottles rather than genetics.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby thought about that a lot, and decided it was probably because of magic stuff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Mother. I’ll be ready and willing to bind it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good! Now then,” Magica started. “We’ll be working in the dungeon. I’ll be hauling that thing in the bag downstairs, so it might take me a little time to get ready. Why don’t you help Lena clean the kitchen while I’m setting everything up, dear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded, jumping out of her chair to rush towards the sink. Lena gave her a smile, then pulled out the plate she’d been washing and handed it to Webby.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You and me on the job, kiddo. Let’s make it quick!” Lena said, reaching into the soapy mass of pans and dishes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am!” Webby declared enthusiastically, trying not to think about what she’d have to do once the kitchen was clean.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Dewey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dewey McQuack was 10 years old, and he was pretty sure his dad was the coolest person on the planet. Sure, his dad wasn’t the smartest person Dewey knew, far from it. But he was a great wrestler, a great pilot, and he’d weaseled his way into the heart of Don Karnage, the most fearsome sky pirate in the Western hemisphere. Well, now that Dewey thought of it, kind of the only sky pirate in the Western hemisphere, but the point still stood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey rolled out of his hammock to nimbly fall onto the deck of the Iron Vulture, slicking back his hair to get the rakish look that all of the crew thought was absolutely adorable. One-Eye Gus waved at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you doing, Dewey? Looking sharp today!” Gus called out, obviously flattering. Dewey puffed out his button-up jacket in response, reveling in the praise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, really? I wasn’t even really thinking about what I’d wear today. This is all </span>
  <em>
    <span>au natural</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Dewey replied with a smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Oh, I think your dad is looking for you. Or looking for something? It’s always difficult to tell with that guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll find him. Thanks Gus! Have a good one, pal!” Dewey replied, and made his way down to the cockpit, the most likely place he’d find his dad. It was either there or the impromptu wrestling ring he’d set up in the cargo bay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dewey was walking, Peg Leg Meg ambushed him from behind with tickles. Dewey cried out laughing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop, stop-  ha ha! - Please stop, Meg, I know that’s you!” Dewey squeaked out between giggles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, you’ve always got to be on guard, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pirate rule number one!” Minerva said, but at the same time she relented with the tickles and switched to ruffling Deweys hair up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey hey hey, don’t mess with the hair! That’s delicate!” Dewey replied angrily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, classic Champopular. So, what’s my favorite ten-year-old up to today? Gonna do some swashbuckling?” Minerva asked with a chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you must know, I’m going to find my dad. Gus said he was looking for me.” Dewey replied, sticking his tongue out at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aye, well you’d better be quick. We don’t want him to crash the ship </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he only seems to land right while he’s showing you how to fly.” Minerva complained, flipping her red hair back. “Plus, Don Karnage is in a bad mood, so it’s best if we all make sure Launchpad is there to take the edge off, </span>
  <em>
    <span>si?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Si, lo se. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Why’s Don Karnage in a bad mood?” Dewey asked, slicking his hair back into its original, charismatically ruffled form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eh, probably somebody screwed up a job. Or a dance number. Or somebody almost beat him in a sword fight. Who knows with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>lobo viejo</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Minerva replied. “He’s always mad about something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s never mad about </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Dewey bragged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft, cause you’re like his protege or something. Captain’s got plans for you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, don’t you doubt that!” Minerva countered. “If you were just a regular crewmate he’d probably yell at you a dozen times a day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Well if you excuse me, I have a cockpit to get to.” Dewey replied curtly, and walked off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His flippers thudded dully against the metal hull as he made his way to the cockpit, watching other crew members sidle by with cargo and engineering equipment, usually nodding their heads at him or giving him a warm </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Hey Dewey!’</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Man, was it good to be the only child on a ship full of pirates. When he finally reached the cockpit, he saw his dad leaning back in the pilot’s seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey dad!” Dewey called out warmly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad stood up in his chair immediately. “Dewey! My little buddy! How’s it going little dude?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, y’know, pretty awesome. Gus said you were looking for me?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haha, nah, I was just missing you a little. It can get really lonely just piloting by myself, you know? Just me, the sky, and the constant reminiscing about fond memories… Real lonely.” Launchpad said, scratching his mop of red hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This whole being a pirate thing is honestly a lot different than I expected it would be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad, you’ve been a pirate for like, ten years. You’re literally dating a pirate.” Dewey pointed out. “Plus, being a pirate is awesome! There’s singing, and wrestling, and everybody’s nice to you, and you get a cool sword!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Dewey, you’re still young. You don’t know the horrible feeling of your moral compass being slowly eroded over time.” Launchpad said, narrowing his eyes. “Anyway! I’m also thinking that it’s time for you to enter the sword fighting game, you know? Don Karnage really wants to show you how to actually sword fight!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool! Wait a second, I already know how to sword fight?” Dewey was suddenly confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? How?” Launchpad asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh… well, first you swing your sword up, and then you swing it down, and then you… dramatically clash swords with your opponent?” Dewey explained. “Okay, so it’s not a concrete idea of it, but it feels pretty cool!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ahem!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” A gruff voice came from behind them. While Dewey and Launchpad had been talking, Don Karnage had managed to silently make his entrance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What you are describing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is a Hollywood mockery of swordplay!” Don Karnage declared, drawing his saber from its sheath. “I will not have you flitting about like a willow, aiming at nothing like an actor! No, I, the great Don Karnage, will show you how to make your blade </span>
  <em>
    <span>sing </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the blood of your enemies!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool!” Dewey exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Don, don’t you think he’s a little bit young for the whole blades singing with blood thing?” Launchpad asked. “You have to have proper boundaries with children. That’s what Darkwing Duck always says!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is true.” Don Karnage conceded. “So we will start with small weapons, as so no one will be evindicated. Completely safe!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw.” Dewey pouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what would Champopular think of disemboweling?” Launchpad asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey sighed. “He’d say that it’s totally uncool.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Launchpad affirmed. “Great moral thinking, little dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, there’s nothing wrong with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little </span>
  </em>
  <span>disemboweling, but disagree to agree, yes? In any case, Dewey, it would be my honor to show you how to cross blades! For I, the great Don Karnage, have need of a pupil!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, what did we say about the whole encouraging violence in Dewey thing?” Launchpad asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I know, try to put a break on it. But he has the spirit of adventure in him! He reminds me of myself when I was his age.” Don Karnage noted. He placed a rough hand on Dewey’s shoulder. “Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s up to you whether or not you learn the way of the sword. But I’m always open to talk to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don Karnage took his leave, allowing his boots to strike the metal and give off a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>clik </span>
  </em>
  <span>noise as he left. Eventually, Dewey and Launchpad were alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Do you think my mom would have wanted me to learn how to swordfight?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who, Della? Oh, totally! She was a super adventurer. Always the first to jump into a fight, or get into a new adventure, or learn something new. She was great at that kind of thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey thought for a second. “I think I’m going to learn how to use swords, then. Thanks, dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad nodded, then paused. “You definitely know that I’m not like, your real dad, right? Cause I have no idea who that guy is. A total mystery!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, you're not my biological dad. But you tucked me in at night and hugged me when I was scared and watched me grow up, so… if you’re not my dad, then who is, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad immediately started tearing up at that. “Aw, buddy, that’s so beautiful to say!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it. And don’t think I’ll say that in front of anybody else! Got it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My lips are sealed, little dude.” Launchpad nodded, wiping his tears away. “Cross my heart and hope to crash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Speaking of crashing, where are we actually going right now?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm. Well, according to the red dashed line going through all these green shapes, it looks like we’re going to South Africa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. What’s in South Africa?” Dewey asked,</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t know, little dude, all I do is fly the plane. If you want to know, you should ask Don Karnage. He’s the ideas guy.” Launchpad said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool, cool cool. See you later, dad!” Dewey called out, dashing away from the pilot’s seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye Dewey! Don’t disembowel somebody and lose your sweet innocence!” Launchpad called back, waving at Dewey as he sprinted away.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Huey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Huey Duck was 10 years old, and he was pretty sure that his dad was the smartest person in the world. Well, okay, Fethry technically wasn’t his dad, but he was tucked in by him and inducted to the Junior Wood Scouts by him and all that stuff, so as far as Huey was concerned, Fethry was his dad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, Fethry wasn’t as focused as Gyro was, or as rich as Mark Beaks, but he was dedicated and he put the time in to show he cared. Even if that showing he cared meant almost getting eaten by giant krill on a family field trip. And sure, he might not even have a PhD, but Fethry managed to talk about marine biology using terms that Huey had never even heard of. Possibly because Fethry made them up, but still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey looked out the glass window of his Wadpod. The sea was astonishingly clear today, the Carribean waters a close approximation of sky blue tinged with the gentle beams of sunlight falling down. Gyro had called the whole project a tremendous waste of resources and ripe with security risks, but ever since the move down south Huey had managed to even talk to a few kids his own age who’d been visiting!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not that they usually talked back, but you know, at least there was some attempt at communication, right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a chime from the electric door. “G-y-r-o. G-e-a-r-l-o-o-s-e. Wants to enter your pod. Are you chill with that?” The pod’s automated voice sputtered out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let him in.” Huey confirmed. “Hey Gyro! What have you got going on today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got something that’s definitely going to work!” Gyro declared, picking Huey up and lifting him in the air. “We’re gonna find your brothers today, Huey, I guarantee it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Uh, yay?” Huey weakly pumped a fist into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You see, this time, it’s my hundredth attempt!” Gyro declared, placing Huey down on the ground again. “And 100 is my lucky number, so it’s definitely going to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. I mean, not that superstition around lucky numbers isn’t a… thing, but what if it doesn’t work? Again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gyro hummed at that. “Well, I’ll probably break down in despair for a week and then throw myself back at the problem again, like I always do. Why do you ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just… doesn’t that feel like, super unhealthy? Besides, what if my brothers are super happy where they are and you don’t need to spend all your time focusing on them? Then you could just, I don’t know, focus on the Duck kid that you actually have, or something.” Huey mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Huey, I can’t just leave your brothers in the arms of kidnappers. It’d be unconscionable. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have some cool friends your age?” Gyro asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I have Boyd.” Huey pointed out. “Boyd’s cool!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but B.O.Y.D. isn’t technically speaking somebody your-- listen, I love that robot as much as the next guy, but it’s not a substitute for human interaction, Huey.” Gyro explained. “Now let’s go and find your brothers, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine.” Huey sighed. “Can I look at the blueprints for your invention first?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course! You know you’re always welcome to look at my technical schematics, kid, you’ve earned it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Without anything censored this time?” Huey pressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well… You know I trust you Huey, but a lot of the things I work with are dangerous for a kid your age. I’ll think about it.” Gyro pushed the question into the future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, like you said you’d think about going with me and Fethry down to the ocean floor last week? Or like how you said you’d think about taking me with you on your trip to Japan? Or what about when you talked about letting me and Boyd go to an actual, in-person classroom?” Huey questioned, face turning into a snarl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huey, I am not going to be forced into a conversation with you when you’re so determined to be angry. Now, you can calm down and join me, or you can go back to your room.” Gyro responded coolly, settling the matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catching the rise in temper, Huey took in a deep breath and tried to calm down. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Think of nice things. Fractals. Properly maintained hardware. Text within the right margins.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Calmer, he made to follow Gyro to the lab, who’d already taken off without him. The Waddle Seastead Resort’s halls were made out of white plastic, with a stylish grey floor. Huey liked it, since it was such an exemplary piece of minimalist design. There was a place for every thing, and every thing was in its place. Occasionally, the white walls were interrupted with a wide view of the oceanic depths. Sometimes brightly colored fish would swim by (Fethry would usually take the moment to stop whatever he and Huey were doing and just appreciate the nature) or occasionally even dolphins and whales.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today, there was no such luck. The depths seemed to be devoid of life at the moment. Huey traced the familiar footsteps to Gyro’s lab.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, if this thing actually works and we find out who took my brothers, does that mean I can leave the lab?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gyro gave out a long, snorting laugh, and then straightened to a serious expression. “Of course not. I’ve already lost two members of the family, I’m not going to lose a third!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You literally have a tracker on me! If I get lost, you’ll be able to find me!” Huey pointed out. “Plus, you let Boyd go outside all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyd can defend himself. I’m not comfortable letting you outside without weapons, and I’m not comfortable showing you how to use weapons until you’re 13, so tough luck mister.” Gyro said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But how am I supposed to get any of the Junior Wood Scout badges related to camping and outdoors stuff if I’m stuck at the bottom of the ocean?” Huey complained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are just set on pestering me with questions today. Oh, I know! I can make a synthetic terrarium for you and Fethry to go camping in! That way, you can get all your forestry badges.” Gyro decided.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure that’s really the same, but ok.” Huey relented.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doors to Gyro’s lab gilded open, bringing Huey into the cluttered tangle of wires and gears that made it up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Note to self-- create an organizational system for Dr. Gearloose’s lab.” Huey muttered to himself, pulling out the guidebook from under his hat to write the note down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gyro, meanwhile, had dragged out a drone into the center of the circular laboratory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This! Is the Duck-Child-Finder-Drone! Or DCFD for short. It’s not the greatest acronym, sure, but by the time I got to naming it I was on three nights without sleep, so I think that’s fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With his spare hand, Gyro pulled a tube of blue sheet paper from the table behind him. “And here are his basic schematics, Huey. None of the nifty details, but it sets up the basic design. You can do whatever you want with them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey rolled his eyes and reached out to grab them, looking at the delicately drawn out wires that twisted through the machine on paper. “So, how are you going to make sure this one doesn’t turn evil?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gyro laughed. “You know, I figure tracking down and surveillance is enough of a grey area that I wouldn’t have to worry about it this time! Since we’re already kind of morally dubious, we should be in the clear. No more Rescuebots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gyro added the last part with a shudder. “No, this will be clearcut, ethically not great, exact surveillance of everybody genetically related to your mother, Della Duck!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded. “But wait, what about me and Fethry?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you two are programmed as exceptions. Same with Gander, although with his luck it probably wouldn’t be able to find him anyway.” Gyro explained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. And it can find them from anywhere?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s right! This baby will get into low Earth orbit and scan the planet to look for them. Then we just have to track them down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So if you’re tracking them down, then can I come with you?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I mean…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just asking since I’ve been separated from my brothers for so long, and since we’re triplet it’s almost like I can… like I can feel the psychic pull of their absence! Yeah, I read that in a comic once.” Huey finished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Gyro deadpanned, narrowing his eyes at Huey. “... If Fethry and B.O.Y.D. can come with us, then maybe I’ll think about taking you along. Ok?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok.” Huey said dully, mentally letting go of the plan. At least he and Fethry might be able to sneak out and look at some of the local sea life while Gyro was gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, let’s get this baby started!” Gyro exclaimed, pushing a button on the drone’s side. In response, the drone’s eyes flashed blue, and the cylindrical robot began to hover.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“DCFD, activated.” It hummed, starting to lift further. “Lift-off in 4, 3, 2, 1.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On one, the drone shot upwards and upwards, reaching towards the top of Gyro’s lab to get above sea level, and finally splashed out into the world above.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... You know, I really thought that would be more dramatic.” Gyro said, putting his hands on his hips. “I’m a little bit disappointed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s probably a good thing, right? Less dramatic means less likely to be evil.” Huey pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Right. Well, it’s not going to catch up on everything for a while, so you might as well go back to your room.” Gyro said, settling into a worn leather chair. “I’ll let you know if we find anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure I can’t stay here? I want to look at some of the--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huey. Out.” Gyro said simply. “I’ll come get you if you need to be back here. Just messing with all of this stuff would be dangerous. Got it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey’s eyes narrowed, and he took a deep breath. “Got it, Dr. Gearloose.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Louie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Louie O’Gilt was 10 years old, and was pretty sure that his mom was probably the most charismatic person in the world. He’d seen her literally talk the stripes off of a magical tiger once, and then use those stripes to cheat another guy out of his entire company. She had the richest duck on Earth wrapped around her little finger, although she insisted the former richest duck in the world was even more wrapped around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of that charisma had been passed down to him, thankfully, but Louie knew he still had a long way to go before he could pull anything off the same way she could. Despite all of that, she still gave him gentle pushes with a wink and a nod whenever he tried to pull something off, and from Louie’s perspective that made her the greatest mom in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, Goldie’s voice called out from the top floor of the yacht they were ‘borrowing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey squirt! Are you ready to go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie rolled his eyes. “Yeah! Just gimme a sec!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a total lie, of course. Louie had literally just woken up, and he didn’t have anything packed from the night before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, yeah right! Just get ready as quick as you can and get up here.” Goldie’s voice called down again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, the most annoying thing about having a con artist for a mom was that she always knew when you were lying. Damn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t even like Louie had too much to pack, anyway. Louie shoved the blanket off of the couch he’d been sleeping on and stared at the scant clothes strewn around him. Green buttoned up shirts, green pants, a green hoodie… Well, today felt more like a hoodie day. They were going to visit Glomgold, and Goldie made a point of Louie not needing to put too much effort into impressing him. He shrugged the hoodie on and shoved the rest of his clothes into his suitcase, groggily lifting himself up the stairs and onto the upper deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are, sleepy head. You get your beauty sleep?” Goldie quipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, you know that sleeping is it’s own reward.” Louie pointed out. “Ideal scenario, I’d sleep for like, 23 hours a day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie snorted at that. “Oh no you won’t lazybones. If you don’t work hard later in life, who’s going to support me in my old age?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any number of old men you worm into the inheritance of?” Louie asked rhetorically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, but it’s really the principle of the thing that matters. Now c’mon, we’ve got a plane to catch and a dock security guard to sneak past. You have everything put together?” Goldie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got my suitcase and everything.” Louie replied groggily. “Is the guard guy out on the dock or is he just watching from a tower?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s in a tower. Ugh, he’s even using binoculars and wearing sunglasses. He’s a regular wannabe cop.” Goldie grunted. “Alright, let’s just pull the old ‘harmless mother and bratty son’ routine. Hopefully that should get us far enough to outrun him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie nodded, familiar with the act. Goldie grabbed him by the arm and pretended to be pulling him along, and Louie loudly sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mooom, I want to spend more time on the boat!” He griped, which wasn’t even really a lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no you don’t, young man, just wait until your father hears about this! We are going straight home and getting you to do your homework.” Goldie retorted, keeping a cursory eye on the security guard who was now watching them like a hawk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you even get in here?” She asked for the sake of the security.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad left his card lying around, duh. If he didn’t want me to go on the boat, he should have put it in his wallet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The security guard was clambering down from his tower, lumbering his hulking mass down a skinny ladder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, he’s coming. Break away from me and run ahead.” Goldie whispered under her breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what, fine!” Louie shouted, ripping his arm away from Goldie’s light grip and sprinting forward. “I’ll just go back home and tell Dad everything you said while you were drunk last night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sprinted off as Goldie faked a gasp, running after him. “You come back here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guard had made his way down from the tower, and was now heaving his mass after them. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair just kept running to the dock gate, ignoring the security guard who was now yelling something into his walky talky. The security guard at the dock gate perked up, clearly an intern of some kind. Louie smirked as he realized the teenage dork would be an easy mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie marched up to him, looked him up and down, and in his snootiest voice declared, “I want to be let out of here immediately!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The intern looked at him with a dopey expression. “Uh, I don’t think I’m supposed to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What!” Louie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, is your job to keep your customers locked in, or to keep the rabble outside out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the second one, I guess?” The teenager replied, confused. “I just know what my boss is telling me, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now, Goldie had caught up to him. “There you are, young man, I’m not done with you!” She turned to the gatekeeper. “Listen, I’d like to give this little brat a solid earful in the privacy of my </span>
  <em>
    <span>car</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if you don’t mind-- so unless you’d like to hear me yelling for a solid half hour, I suggest you open this gate and let us go </span>
  <em>
    <span>right. Now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, um, do you have an ID?” The teen asked. Goldie rolled her eyes and flashed the entry card she’d pocketed from a random bargoer last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have my husband’s, which this little brat </span>
  <em>
    <span>stole</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is that good enough for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The teenager nodded blankly. “I mean, if you’ve got a card, sure?” The gate opened with a buzz, as the tower guard behind them shouted something in the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” Goldie said, exasperated. “Come on, squirt. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking Louie’s hand, Goldie started sprinting towards the car, only turning back to see if the fat security guard who actually knew how to do his job was gaining on them. Fortunately for them, he was left behind in the dust as Goldie unlocked the car they’d stolen last night and slammed the counterfeit keys into the ignition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woo! Go Team O’Gilt, aw yeah!” Louie cried out triumphantly, tossing his suitcase in the backseat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie was laughing hysterically. “Oh man, I am so glad that security guard was out of shape! Great work, squirt! I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie beamed. “Thanks, mom. Now let’s go rip off a South African Scottish billionaire!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, at this point, it’s not even ripping him off. He doesn’t even raise a fuss when we take his money! Nothing like--” Goldie cut herself off suddenly. “Well, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an awkward moment of silence in the car as Goldie pulled onto the freeway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I know you mean Scrooge, mom. He’s like, all Glomgold ever talks about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, he’s just still… difficult for me to talk about. It was a very weird relationship.” Goldie admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, gross! Don’t let me hear about your gross, old person romance!” Louie stuck out his tongue. “I’m turning on the radio.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie rolled her eyes, but didn’t offer any more information. Instead she settled her gaze out on the road, lost in a mist of her own thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie turned the radio onto some local rock station, the guitars wailing mournfully and full of static. Outside the shotgun window, he could see the blue expanse of the Atlantic stretch out and roll back into shore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s South Africa like?” Louie asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have we never been to South Africa? I could have sworn we’ve been there.” Goldie struggled to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. We’ve been to Mali, but not South Africa.” Louie said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think you’ll like it more than Mali. It’s sunny a lot of the time, so it’s always pleasantly warm, and there’s a lot of open space. A lot more development, though. It’s kind of like America that way, where everything takes up a ton of real estate.” Goldie told him. “Y’know, for a long time Glomgold used to pretend he’d never even heard of South Africa. Kind of nice to see him reconnecting to his roots, instead of pretending he’s Scottish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, cause you and Glomgold are trying to respect the old guy’s memory or whatever while you wait for me to be the new, shinier version of him.” Louie muttered, sulking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, squirt, I don’t want you to be a new Scrooge McDuck.” Goldie insisted. “First of all, you’re your own person, and I love that person! I’ve had the great privilege and occasional misfortune of raising that kid for ten years. And secondly, Scrooge McDuck definitely wouldn’t have approved of any of the methods I’m teaching you, so there’s that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Glomgold wants me to be like him!” Louie shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie just smirked at that. “Yeah, because he’s an idiot. We’re willing to say you’ll be like him to get his money, but that doesn’t mean I want you to be a clone of Scrooge McDuck. If I wanted that, I could probably find a sample from somewhere and actually, y’know, make a clone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie snorted. “Bet he’d be like, a mutant or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie laughed. “Yeah, he never did like having copies of things. Makes sense he wouldn’t want any copies of himself down here either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Small emotional crisis avoided, Louie chose to stare out the window at the ocean rolling by, watching the green Brazilian hills meander into it. Sure, life with his mom could be dangerous, and be a lot of work sometimes, but the moments like this with the ocean rolling by made it all worth it, or his name wasn’t Louie O’Gilt.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just had this idea percolating in the back of my head for a while, decided to write it out. Should update semi-regularly! I always liked the synergy between Louie and Goldie, so I figured it'd be interesting to see how all the kids interacted with their own villain counterparts in that kind of relationship. I guess Gyro isn't technically a villain but he is definitely a dick.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Webby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The kitchen had been cleaned way too fast for Webby’s liking. The sink drained, suds applied, and plates dried almost as fast as lightning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure we shouldn’t sweep the floor again?” Webby asked Lena. “I mean, dust can be really tricky! There might still be some hanging around in spots!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiddo, I’ll be fine cleaning up the rest on my own. And I think you really need to go learn with Aunt Magica. It’s important, y’know?” Lena said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s important to learn how to clean too.” Webby pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s true. So you should learn the magic with Aunt Magica extra fast, so I can show you how to clean out the pipes!” Lena offered, punctuating it with a sarcastic waving of hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You promise?” Webby asked, glancing at the stairs to the basement warily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, kiddo. That’s a ‘sister from another mister’ promise, one hundred percent.” Lean reassured her, pushing Webby out of the kitchen. “Now go bind a demon or whatever, and I’ll see you when you get back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But can’t you come with me?” Webby wondered. “I mean, you’re just as magic as the rest of us, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Lena said harshly. “Absolutely not. Besides, Aunt Magica wouldn’t want me there anyway, so it would probably just put her in a mood, you know? No reason to try and get on her bad side today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Webby let out with a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“C’mon, go be the best witch you can be! I’ll be waiting for you after.” Lena said, trying for reassurance again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby just sighed yet again, and made her way to trudge down the stairs. The descent down into the depths of the dungeon was darker and darker by each step, until Webby found herself in a hall lit only by sickly green torches. The air was deathly cold, and despite the cavernous size no echos rang through the chamber.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother lay at the end of the hall, staff in hand and runes floating eerily around her in purple smoke. A circle had been scratched into the floor, covered in symbols that Webby recognized as archaic Chinese characters. These, too, shone a deep sickly green.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Webbigail, darling! Come, come, step into the center of the circle.” Magica called out, turning around from whatever chanting she’d been preoccupied with earlier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby slowly made her way down the hall, looking at the stoney walls covered in chains and reddish stains she preferred not to think about. The cobble grew colder and colder with each step forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica rolled her eyes. “For Lord’s sake, dear girl, we haven’t got all day! Hurry it up!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby went into a run, closing the distance between her and Magica in a few seconds, quick to obey. “So, mother, what do I need to do now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica summoned an old tome, which hung in the air lazily. “Do you see this passage here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby looked at the page, which had a highlighted passage written in Mandarin. “For all… all those whose luck should be preserved, notice the… following words?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, the proper translation wouldn’t really rhyme, but close enough.” Magica said. “This is a ward to keep the luck vampire away. But we have to do a binding, which means we want to keep the vampire inside of you-- essentially an inside-out warding ritual.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So the characters around the circle, those are the warding devices?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! Clever girl. Now, we essentially want to have you and the vampire in the same circle as it grows smaller and smaller. Right now, the vampire is in that sack in the middle.” Magica pointed at the leather sack she’d brought with her that morning. “Now, we put you in the circle, and start writing it smaller and smaller until he has nowhere to go but merge with your soul.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay… and then what do we do after that?” Webby asked. “I mean, once I left the circle, I wouldn’t be able to keep him trapped anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are so smart!” Magica praised, pinching Webby’s cheek. “See, once we get the circle small enough, we have to get the warding onto your skin so he can’t break out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So we’ll paint it on me?” Webby asked, excited.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and here I thought you were catching on. No, darling, the paint would be liable to rub off or break the seal. We’re going to have to tattoo it on.” Magica explained impatiently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby’s eyes widened considerably, her mouth opening to protest, then snapping shut before she could say something that would put Magica in a worse mood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I have some tricks to numb the pain, so it shouldn’t hurt too bad. Just clear your mind, relax, and… well, think of something relaxing. I used to have to do these types of tattoos on myself, and let me tell you this will be so much easier for you than it was for me at your age.” Magica reassured, waving her hand as if to dispel any second thoughts Webby might have been having. “Now, get in the circle.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wordless, trying not to panic, Webby entered the warding circle. She tried to ignore the hacking, wet noises that came from the leather sack and whatever poor creature was stuck inside of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica began to chant, lighting the warding circle an even brighter shade of green as it started to shrink. Webby gulped, standing as far away as she could from the mewling thing trapped with her until the circle pushed her inwards, closer and closer towards it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the circle started to push against the bag, there was a shrieking noise, not human enough to be a scream, as some wet thing tore through the leather and bounded into the center of the circle. It’s skin was greasy, covered in a leather skin that almost looked like scales. It’s eyes, more like slits than anything, were like iridescent emeralds drenched in a terrifying hatred. The thing opened a fang filled mouth, glaring at Magica with an expression that could only be described as pure malice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, the circle inexorably pushed Webby towards the creature. Once it was small enough, Webby had the displeasure of being pushed against it’s clammy skin, feeling the slime sloughing off from it and covering the stoney floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The circle pulled inexorably tighter, and the thing began to shrink, scrambling to hold onto Webby with it’s own webbed claws, clearly in terror of the words getting closer and closer. Webby was filled with revulsion, but each time she thought about running away all it took was a glance at her mother to see exactly how well that would work out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing was on her shoulder now, clinging, as Magica continued to chant. Webby forced herself to stay calm as the circle grew tighter. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Think of something relaxing. Like, cleaning out the stables with Lena on a nice summer day! Or going into town with Lena to do grocery shopping!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby was ripped from those thoughts when she could feel the thing turning into slime and pouring into her ear. She gasped, but the demon seemed to just take this as another escape hatch and plunged cold, fetid slime down her throat as well, and then she felt it in her nose and began to choke, hacking and struggling to breathe. She tried to turn and call for help from her mother, but she couldn’t even see where to turn, and so just limply held out her hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, suddenly, the sensation was gone and she could breathe again. She took in a deep breath, sputtering, fighting the urge to wretch out on the floor right there. A wild part of her felt that if she did, she’d puke the thing out, and then she’d have to do the whole ritual over again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby turned her neck to look over at her mother, and saw the woman’s features twisted in an expression of pride and delight, golden eyes twinkling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fantastic</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Webby, absolutely amazing!” Magica cooed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“R-really? Because I kind of feel awful.” Webby said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, well it’s never a fun experience to be possessed. But don’t worry, that’s over now, darling.” Magica assured her, something resembling a warm smile on her face. “Now we can get into part two!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Part two?” Webby asked, and then she suddenly recalled what her mother had said about needing to tattoo the symbol onto her body. “Wait!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Request ignored, Magica began chanting again. The Chinese characters scrawled into the floor ripped themselves from the rock and started to float around her. They hung, glowing, in the air like an unmapped constellation. For a brief second, Webby thought that maybe the whole magic thing wouldn’t be too bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the first character flew onto her wrist, and she felt the burning sensation like a miniature sun had been shoved into her palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Burning, burning, burning. That was the only real coherent thought she could form as each shuddering, painful stroke for each ancient glyph was seared into her body, piece by agonizing piece. She wasn’t certain how long it went on for, only that the horrific sensation in her wrist was still there and needed to be endured second by torturous second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point it suddenly came to end. Webby gasped, curled up on the ground, eyes slowly reopening. She was completely out of touch with her bearings until her mother gripped Webby’s face to look into her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, how are you feeling?” Magica asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby thought about that for a second. “I’m really glad that that’s done.” She concluded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And lucky? Do you feel lucky?” Magica inquired, reaching for one of Webby’s hands to pull her off the floor. “Come on, get on your feet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby managed to wring some motor control out of her sore legs. “Well, I’m really lucky that I didn’t have to experience that without a pain spell!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica looked confused for a second, and then smacked herself on the forehead. “Oh, of course! I knew I was forgetting something, so silly of me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby felt tears stinging in her eyes. “You mean you forgot to…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, plain forgot. But look on the bright side! Now you know what the worst case scenario feels like, and you know you can endure it.” Magica explained away. “Now, let’s get back upstairs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded silently. The walk back up the tower was much more painful than the walk down had been. To distract herself, she focused on the new tattoo that decorated her wrist, the Chinese characters forming a circle around the ancient symbol for wealth. Occasionally the symbols seemed to waver and shift, like something was pulling them, but then Webby would blink and they’d be right back to normal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I’m very proud of you!” Magica exclaimed halfway up the stairs, as if she’d just realized it. “I’m not sure even I could have done that at your age. It must have been very difficult.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It definitely was.” Webby agreed. “Can I go find Lena?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica gave a </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but then demurred. “I suppose so. You’ve had quite the day, after all, and she can help you recuperate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica clapped her hands and barked out Lena’s name. As if from nowhere, Lena pulled Webby into a hug from behind. “How are you feeling, kiddo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Awful.” Webby replied honestly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena glared at Magica, then turned her attention back to Webby. “Hey, you already got through the worst of it, right? It’s all better from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now then, Lena, you’ll be keeping Webbigail company as she recovers. I’ll be going out, I have business to attend and shan’t return by midnight. But when I do return, I fully expect the house to be clean, do you understand me?” Magica ordered, turning her gaze onto Lena.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Understood, Aunt Magica.” Lena answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sorceress nodded, then shook her staff and disappeared into a cloud of shadows, teleporting to some far off destination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, kiddo, we’re getting you into bed.” Lena insisted, picking Webby and throwing the girl over her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what about fixing the pipes?” Webby asked absentmindedly. “I wanted to help you fix the pipes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can do that when you’re feeling better. For now, you’re gonna stay in bed and I’m going to make you a cake.” Lena told her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded, losing track of everything around her until she was suddenly covered in blankets and lying on her mattress. Lena was running a hand through Webby’s hair, looking out the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Lena?” Webby asked quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah kiddo?” Lena replied, not paying real attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can we still go get burgers?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to everybody who commented and left kudos! You're nice people.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Dewey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dewey stared his enemy in the eyes, sword drawn and ready to strike. His feet were light, darting left and right to confuse the enemy. Keeping his weight in the air, he made his move to strike, swinging his sword in a low arc to take out the enemy’s shin, only to be met with a parry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey darted back, and went in the other direction, swinging up high to rip his enemy’s eye out from his socket, only to be parried once again, much lazier than last time. Frustrated, Dewey jabbed the sharp end of the blade towards his opponent’s stomach, only for the enemy saber to catch his steel sword and masterfully wring it out from his hands to send it soaring into the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The small saber clattered onto the deck. “Aw, man.” Dewey grumbled. “I totally could’ve gotten you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don Karnage sniffed, and sheathed his own blade. “You are making a mistake, treating the sword as if it is just some club to beat the enemy into submission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah? Don’t you want to hit the bad guys?” Dewey pointed out. “That’s like, the whole point of fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Karnage barked out a laugh. “Yes, yes, ideally you would strike the enemy. But! You must treat the sword like an extension of the self! It is not just a utensil, it is a part of you. You have no sense for the weight and balance of your sword if you thrash it around like a tree branch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what do you want me to do?” Dewey asked, still sore about the sword being ripped away from his hands so easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are going to meditate with the sword.” Don Karnage answered simply. “Hold it in your right hand, and just sit there feeling the weight of it, getting to know it. Learning to appreciate it as more than just a simple club.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like, super boring.” Dewey complained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! Most of even the very interesting things in life involve parts that are extraordinarily boring. That is just the way of things.” Karnage explained, patting Dewey on the head. “Now, retrieve your sword and get to meditating, and maybe tomorrow I’ll show you how to properly make a strike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey let out a complaining groan, but moved to grab his sword nonetheless. As he picked it up, he remembered the question he’d asked his dad earlier. “Hey, Don Karnage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What is it?” The captain asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are we going to South Africa?” Dewey asked, holding the steel in his hand and feeling it’s weight in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, a very good question! Did you know, the world’s wealthiest duck lives in the outskirts of the Kalahari Desert? A mysterious hermit to most, you wouldn’t know that he was such a wealthy man to look at him. I figure it is good to relieve such a man who makes no consideration for his wealth of the money that ails him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we’re going to rob an old dude in the middle of the desert.” Dewey clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like hold him hostage, but you get the idea, yes. Traditional pirate things, you know.” Don Karnage replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Traditional pirate things. So it’s just going to be one guy?” Dewey questioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It should just be one old man, yes. Why do you ask these questions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, it just sounds like it’ll be super </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How is being a pirate so boring sometimes?” Dewey asked. Don Karnage just chuckled at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, most of the time the most interesting things in life are very boring. And sometimes, the most boring things can be very interesting! Accountants, for example. I once knew an accountant who used his position to steal a billion dollars and leave no one the wiser.” Don Karnage recounted, leading to Dewey just groaning in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go meditate while watching some people wrestle. Sound okay?” Dewey asked rhetorically, walking over to the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just make sure you’re with Launchpad before we land! Don’t want a repeat of the Sao Paulo incident, eh?” Don Karnage called out to Dewey, who just waved a hand in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The upper deck of the Iron Vulture had been converted into a makeshift wrestling ring when Dewey was still an egg, soon after Launchpad had joined the crew. The chains serving as ropes were tied around some crates, and the floor was covered by some stolen carpets to soften the blow from any aerial maneuvers. Peg Leg Meg had Gus in a headlock as the crowd cheered them on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go Meg!” Dewey joined in, thoughtlessly raising his sword into the air and nearly cutting off a crewmembers ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg looked up from the crowd at the noise. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Does Champopular want to drop the sword and join me for a beatdown in the ring?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I wish! Don Karnage wants me to meditate with this sword all day.” Dewey complained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, better not to piss him off then.” Meg admitted. “But hey, I could show you some neat sword tricks if you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gus took the moment to try and escape her pin, reaching for her neck with a loose arm, only to be rewarded by Meg shifting her position to release a savage </span>
  <em>
    <span>crack</span>
  </em>
  <span> from the poor man’s bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? Awesome!” Dewey perked up. “All Don Karnage did was disarm me and lecture me about not holding my sword right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just a perfectionist. Here, let me get Gus here out of this pin intact and I’ll give you all the cool tips.” Meg said smugly, driving her knee into Gus’ back at just the right angle to pop one of his discs back into place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gus whimpered, rolling over and slapping the carpet in submission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what you get for telling me to stay in the kitchen, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hijo de puta</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Next time, learn a little more respect for women.” Meg spat at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the woman calling my mom a--” Gus started, but was rewarded with a swift knee to the neck, cutting the air out of his lungs before he could finish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Let’s show you how to use a sword.” Meg said, smiling as she stood up and vaulted over the chains making up the little ring. “We’re gonna make Champopular a </span>
  <em>
    <span>swashbuckler</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey was so overwhelmed with excitement, he nearly dropped his sword. “Alright! What are we going to start with? Breaking through windows? Fighting on ropes? Fighting in </span>
  <em>
    <span>volcanoes?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh… no.” Meg shut him down. “Gotta start with the basics. C’mon, let’s get down to the armory and I’ll get my own sword out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey’s bounces of excitement were more subdued after the shut down, but he was still brimming with excitement. “So, what are the basics of sword fighting? Is it like, connecting with the spirit of the sword?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s more about goals, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. When you’re fighting, what’s the goal that you have in mind?” Meg asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To look super cool and strike fear in the hearts of your enemies!” Dewey answered confidently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, you can use reputation to avoid a fight. But when you’re actually fighting, the goal is to end the fight as fast as possible.” Meg steered the conversation away from the Darkwing Duck references. “You want to hit your enemies defenses in a way that leaves them unable to fight, either by mutilating part of their body and screwing up their defense or hitting them in an artery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey blinked. “Uh, I think this is going into disembowelment territory. Dad was pretty clear about no disemboweling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg blinked. “Oh, yeah, you’re probably a bit young for the whole mutilation thing, huh? Alright, let’s just focus on disarming, then. So when you’re fighting an enemy, disarming lies entirely around getting the weight of their sword twisted in a way that they can’t hold it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, what! This just sounds like more meditation stuff again.” Dewey fumed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise you, in practice it’s a lot cooler than it seems.” Meg smiled. “I mean, how do you think I lost my leg? Some </span>
  <em>
    <span>cabron</span>
  </em>
  <span> disarmed me and when I kept fighting, he chopped the thing off! Man, that was a hell of a day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying if I don’t know how to disarm somebody I could lose my leg.” Dewey spelled out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... I mean, you’re not wrong.” Meg conceded. “Having a peg leg is pretty neat, though. There are a lot worse things that could happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Right. Okay, yeah, starting to have a new appreciation for the whole disarmament thing.” Dewey nodded, letting the idea sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg pushed open the door to the weapons locker, revealing the cache of ammo, guns, and swords that adorned the walls. She stalked over to the swords, pulling out a light rapier and giving it an experimental jab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m going to stay in position, and you’re going to try and get this sword out of my hands. Sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey nodded, raising his own shortblade up in the air and giving a vicious thwack to the middle of Meg’s blade… which barely budged in response. Frustrated, Dewey brought his blade up and back down again, with the same result.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up darkly at Meg, who was smirking. “C’mon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, is that all you got?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Dewey thought,</span>
  <em>
    <span> I can definitely do this</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He considered the weight of the blade in his own hand, where it would be most awkward to handle. When Don Karnage had disarmed him that morning, the captain’s blade had gone almost down to Dewey’s hilt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a more controlled swing, Dewey shifted his sword to strike around the lower third of Meg’s rapier, and managed to twist it in a way that put her wrist in an awkward position. She was beaming in approval, waiting for him to leverage it in a way to take her sword down to the ground. Dewey kept the pressure up, but wasn’t sure how he could really take the rest of it out of her wrist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if he just grabbed the sword? Dewey reached up to take the far edge of Meg’s blade and twist it, which went okay at first. He barely noticed it was cutting in until he got the thrust wrong and Meg’s smile of approval turned into an expression of shock as she dropped the blade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The edge cut deep into his palm, deeper than Dewey would have thought possible. As red liquid flowed from the cut, Meg grabbed his hand to look, muttering under her breath. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you never, never, never, ever grab a blade with your bare hand! Do you understand me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey could feel the prickling heat of tears springing to his eyes, and tried to push them back. “Yes.” He croaked out barely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes what?” Meg pushed, taking a rag from her pocket to tie around his hand and stop the bleeding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I will never, never, never ever grab a sword with my bare hand.” He mumbled. “Am I gonna need stitches?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg tied the rag around his palm tightly. “I don’t think so. You’re lucky that you didn’t lose any fingers-- you don’t want to be matched up with me, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, you’re pretty great.” Dewey tried to joke through his sniffling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Launchpad’d kill me if he knew I did something to make you lose all of your fingers. I mean, it’d take him a while to notice they were gone, but once he did…” Meg trailed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, yeah!” Dewey laughed, trying to ignore the red blot spreading out across his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, let’s get you to the infirmary. Make sure your fingers aren’t gonna fall off.” Meg said, ruffling his hair and then holding onto his shoulder to lead him down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... My fingers aren’t actually going to fall off, right?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not! Just a joke, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Meg reassured him. “The wound could get infected though, and that wouldn’t be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An announcement came through on the intercom. “Attention, please, we are about 60 miles off from our destination. Please prepare to crash and get ready to fight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... On second thought, we should get you to Launchpad. I’ll bring the nurse up to you, ok?” Meg decided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey nodded. “Oh, once I’m all patched up can you show me how to do that hold you had on Gus? That’s even cooler than sword fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Meg replied, smiling.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Huey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Huey was looking over the schematics for the robot that was supposedly looking for his brothers. It seemed simple enough, at least from an engineering standpoint. Just a basic satellite with a few additions that weren’t explained in any detail on the schematics other than their names or designation numbers in Gyro’s numerous patent folders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, and looked out the window into the clear sea. In the distance, he could just barely make out the shape of an aquatic rover. Suddenly excited, Huey tore his radio out from the desk drawer he kept it in, switching it on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Fethry, are you almost home? Over.” He switched off the receiver. Silence greeted him, and then the radio crackled to life with his uncle’s voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huey! Yeah, I’ll be back soon! Man, I really miss the krill back in the North Sea, but there’s some amazing stuff out here I can’t wait to show you… Oh, over!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey smiled, and clicked his end of the receiver on. “Well, we’ll probably get the time to get out soon. Gyro just launched his hundredth device to find my brothers, over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other end of the radio was silent for a long time. Hey was about to radio again when Fethry’s voice came through. “Oh man, that poor guy’s gonna be devastated when it doesn’t work. I hope he doesn’t spiral too far this time. Still, I do have some super amazing seaweed fields to show you! They’re 100% inirridescent, and they’re the greenest I’ve ever seen! Uh, over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey laughed. “Uncle Fethry, you can’t have something like ‘greenest seaweed.’ It’s just a really cool shade of green. Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, you say that, but really just wait until you see it. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before, I promise. Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh, I wonder what genus it is! Maybe it’s a new subspecies, that’d be really cool. Or it’s like, something that’s never been properly examined for its chemical properties, so it really is an entirely unique shade of green!” Huey theorized excitedly. “If we get to name it, I want to name it after me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chlorophyta hubertus</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, little guy! We can take some back to look at in the lab.” Fethry promised. “Oh, over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey smiled, even though his stomach felt twisted up inside. “Hey, Uncle Fethry… if what Dr. Gearloose has works, and we really do find my brothers… you’re not just going to start bringing them along with us to everything, right? Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few seconds of anxiety-inducing silence occurred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not, little guy. You’re my favorite nephew in the world! Nobody’s going to be replacing you any time soon. Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey let out a sigh of relief and clicked on the receiver. “Alright. Sorry, that was stupid, it’s just that, with Dr. Gearloose being so excited and everybody else out from the house it’s like, I feel like nobody really needs me… Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The radio crackled back to life. “Hey, where else am I going to find a Junior Woodchuck who memorized the entire rulebook? I’m always gonna need my favorite trooper. Over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to get into the landing bay to meet you when you dock. See you soon! Over.” Huey said, turning the radio back off and meticulously setting back in its place marked with tape in the drawer. When he was satisfied he made his way to the door, pressing the button to go back into the grey and white hallways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Passing through the hallways as curious fish peered in through the windows, Huey dashed towards the docking bay. The submarine portions of the Seastead Resort weren’t huge, but the distance was still a decent walk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scant landmarks that showed any deviation from hall to hall were easily passed by-- a bust of Mark Beaks here, an abstract painting there, and occasional pieces of golden wire paintings that seemed to explode from their canvases. Mark had assured Huey that everything decorating the halls was worth over a hundred million dollars, and that Huey was under no circumstances to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever </span>
  </em>
  <span>touch them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The landing bay was austere and minimalist, like much of the facility. The only real piece of personality which dared to disturb the ordered domain was Fethry’s ‘lab’, his own personal corner with microscopes and books piled up alongside various specimens that he particularly liked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey clambered onto the comfortable carved wood chair at Fethry’s desk, cracking open one of the journals to read through some more recent notes. Nothing about the seaweed, but there was a map with various spots circled. Most of them were labelled ‘To show Huey’, but here and there were a few places marked off as ‘Dangerous!’ or ‘Gyro would kill me for taking him here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then there was one place circled in green, simply labelled with question marks. Huey guessed that was the location of the seaweed, given the general scattered nature of Fethry’s note-taking process. He flipped to the next page, containing a sketch of some deep sea creature that looked absolutely terrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing Fethry, he’d probably tried to pet it. Maybe he’d even succeeded. Before Huey could flip to the next page, the docking light flipped red and let out a shrill beep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned over the chair to look at the pool of water the submarine would emerge from, waiting excitedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mass of smooth, dark metal burst from the water, spraying Huey with it. Fethry was clearly visible in the cockpit, waving excitedly as the submarine slowly but surely rose further and further. Once it was in position, the cockpit screen swung open and Fethry leaped onto the dock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s my favorite nephew doing?” Fethry asked, scooping Huey up into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m doing okay. How was the seaweed exploration?” Huey asked in reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Huey, it was amazing! I can’t even describe how great the open sea is. I mean, sure, it’s a lot different from being out in the North Sea, but there’s so much more life here, it’s amazing! I’ve got a whole map of things to show you out there, if I can get Gyro to loosen the leash enough to let you out.” Fethry rambled, making his way to pick out the map he’d scribbled notes onto in his book. Once he had it open, he made a new note in the margins of it, scribbling a circle onto an unmarked location.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, Dr. Gearloose is the worst! Does he even have custody over me? Why would you need permission from him to take me with you?” Huey snarled. “I’m so tired of him just ordering everyone around!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, little guy.” Fethry said, putting a hand on Huey’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard for you to get, but we still don’t know how or why your brothers were taken. I don’t want to lose you too, and as strict as the doc can be sometimes, he’s the best way to make sure it doesn’t happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... most of the time, I wish I was just a single child.” Huey admitted. “At least then, I’d actually get to talk to people like a normal person!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Huey...” Fethry wrapped the kid up in a hug, and Huey tried to scramble out of it. “I know you don’t get it now, but you’ll see why we did all of this when you have your own kid to take care of. There’s nothing more scary than the idea of someone coming after a person you love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fethry lapsed into silence, his mind stuck in some memory or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We lost five people we loved on the same day. You’re all we’ve got left.” He tried to reach out and hold Huey’s hand at the end of the sentence, but Huey just slapped it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re all so obsessed with the people you lost you barely even act like I’m here! Pretty much the only reason Dr. Gearloose even talks to me is because of something related to my brothers, and Mark only likes to talk to me in order to snap selfies of the kid he’s ‘mentoring’, and you! You are-- well, you actually care. But then you don’t stand up for me!” Huey was panting, the rant exhausting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fethry took in a deep breath, closing his eyes. A dozen potential counterarguments raced through Huey’s mind, and he started thinking of rebuttals to all of them-- how it wasn’t fair other kids got to have friends while he was stuck in the lab, how he didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>his brothers even though he didn’t know them, that Gyro and Beaks could get really </span>
  <em>
    <span>scary </span>
  </em>
  <span>when Fethry wasn’t around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re right.” Fethry admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m right! Wait, I’m right?” Huey repeated, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. I think I’ve been clinging to this station for too long, Huey. It feels safe for me, like a home. And it’s your home too, but it probably hasn’t been the best home for you. I was a lonely kid at your age, and I know how to handle it now but-- but I should’ve noticed that would do something to a kid.” Fethry seemed to collapse into the chair at his lab with that admission. “You know, your mom was always a super social person. She wouldn’t have wanted… anything like this for you. At first it was about keeping you safe, but it doesn’t even seem like anybody is looking for you these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are you going to do?” Huey asked warily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly? I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. There’s an open position at a marina in Beagleburg, and I already applied for it. So if I get it-- and that’s an </span>
  <em>
    <span>if</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- I’m taking you with me.” Fethry admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- I mean, good. I mean-- when you were going to tell me about this?” Huey pressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I was going to tell you once I had confirmation I got the job. I didn’t want to get your hopes up, little guy.” Fethry said. He rubbed his hand against the red beanie on his forehead. “I mean, I’ve been putting it off since once Dr. Gearloose hears about it, he’s gonna murder me. But we’ll be getting out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey wrapped his arms around Fethry, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fethry gave him a pat on the head. “Hey, how could I say no to my favorite nephew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huey laughed. “Oh man, am I going to get to go to an actual school! Like, with actual people? That are real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Boyd’s as real as any of us.” Fethry chastised. “But yeah, we’re going to be putting you in an actual school. Maybe even an actual public school! Depending on how, uh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>willing </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dr. Gearloose is to help fund your education.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much does private school cost? Like, 50,000 dollars? That isn’t that much.” Huey said nonchalantly. “I mean, my room Watpad is only a hundred thousand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh boy, I’m really going to need to teach you about finances once we get out of here. Huey, we’re not going to be funded by a billionaire like we usually are, so you might have to make some… lifestyle adjustments.” Fethry winced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. So like, we won’t have all the latest technology, got it.” Huey nodded. “I can plan for this. I’ll just need to write down everything that might change, and then I can figure it out ahead of time. Simple.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oookay. How about you do some research into Beagleburg tonight, and we talk about it more tomorrow. Does that sound fair?” Fethry suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep! Thanks, Uncle Fethry.” Huey beamed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m finally getting out of here. Finally, finally, finally!</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was all he could think as he bounced down the halls, making his way into his room and settling down to look into the city of Beagleburg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Population, 1,670,892. Formerly named Duckburg, until the crime lord known as Ma Beagle stepped in and stole the deed. One of the economic hubs of the American west coast, primarily serving as the financial capital of California. Formerly the residence of Duck Industries, before the company was shuttered after-- well, he already knew all about that part. Some pretty significant crime problems. Weirdly situated between the hills and the Pacific. Originally settled as a fort by Francis Drake fighting against the Spanish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was more trivia-- districts, information about the metro and bus systems, all kinds of information about local schools and demographics (Beagleburg was actually one of the most diverse cities in America, according to a few articles) along with information about the marina. Filling in the data was soothing and familiar. The report he’d put together was pretty basic, looking at the average rental price in certain areas close to the marina, the cost of some of the private schools, bus fare, groceries, and all that, but he felt comfortable with the math and the accounting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was late by the time he’d finished, the shafts of light illuminating the ocean having changed from golden to silver. But the report he had saved on his computer was filled with something he hadn’t really experienced in a long time-- hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his door shifted open, he thought it was his uncle, coming to ask if he made any progress. He turned around smiling, only for the smile to die once he saw who was at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Gearloose wore a triumphant grin, his eyes lit up in an unmistakable light of either mania or genius. Huey guessed it was probably a mix of both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I found them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Huey could even say a word, Dr. Gearloose had taken Huey by the wrist and led him out into the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You actually found them? Like, for real you found them?” Huey asked, incredulous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gyro didn’t answer, wordlessly marching them down the white halls, hurried footsteps echoing along the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dr. Gearloose, you’re scaring me.” Huey said, trying to snatch his wrist back to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They were in South Africa. Of course, it makes sense… Glomgold, it’s always Glomgold, right? The rivalry, stealing kids… it’s a miracle they're alive-- but they’re alive! They’re alive, Huey!” Dr. Gearloose went from muttering to shouting, turning to look Huey in the eye. “And we’re going to make them safe. Go get your uncle, I’m going to activate B.O.Y.D.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the doctor loosed his grip and ran off, practically giddy. Huey grabbed his wrist, rubbing at the red mark Gearloose’s tight grip had left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was going to be a long night.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Louie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Kalahari desert managed to be more boring than the flight had been. Louie hung his head outside the window, letting the wind cool him down. The car’s A/C had broken down midway through, and he and Goldie were stuck in the middle of the desert dealing with it, covered in sweat and sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’d think that the richest duck in the world could afford to live somewhere near civilization.” Goldie grouched. “I mean, the last time we met up he was in Beagleburg-- what’s wrong with Beagleburg?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe this is a trap. He gave us a random location in the middle of the desert after he got tired of us ripping him off.” Louie moaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell no. I know Flintheart Glomgold well enough to know when he’s lying, and I’m sure he isn’t screwing us on this one.” Goldie said, a hard edge to her voice. “But he’s definitely got a few of his own screws loose, that’s for sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an hour before they got to the location indicated by their coordinates, a dismal farm surrounded by barbed wire fences and a dinky wooden gate. Goldie killed the transmission, bringing the car to a shuddering halt. “Wow, that is a serious downgrade. I thought he’d at least have some kind of compound or mansion out here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m telling you, it’s a trap.” Louie teased. “It’s either that, or Flintheart settled down for a life of peaceful desert farming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Lord, if he tries to get us in his desert commune we’re leaving as soon as possible.” Goldie replied drily. “Now c’mon, squirt, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie groaned, mourning the loss of the breeze from the car window as he trudged into the blazing heat of the desert. He gingerly poked at the fence, half-expecting it to be rigged to a mine or something. Instead, it just swung open with a creak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, this is weirder than a trap.” Louie muttered to himself. Goldie had already made it to the front of the shack, knocking loudly at the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Flintheart? You still alive in there?” She called out. There was silence for a few, long seconds. “Oh my God, the old bastard might actually be dead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie’s eyes widened, and he actually jumped when the door slammed open and the old man himself was standing on the doorstep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goldie! Louie! Just the ducks I was hoping to see. Come on in, why don’t you? I’ve got some tea on the kettle for ya, should be ready in a few minutes.” Flintheart boasted, gesturing at them wildly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, of course. So, quick question, what is all of this?” Goldie asked right off the bat. Louie came in after her, looking at the dimly lit interior of the ramshackle building. There was a couch, some chairs, a little kitchen, and-- well, and that was it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you still the richest duck in the world?” Louie asked, concern rising in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold just chuckled in response. “Ah, so attached to the material concerns of wealth. Yes, I’m still the richest duck in the world, don’t get your bits in a twist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie sat down on the worn couch. “So then why are you living in like… a hole? I mean no offense, but also…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie levelled her gaze at Glomgold, adding her own quiet emphasis to the question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has anyone ever told ya, that if you want to destroy a man you should give him what he most desires?” Glomgold asked. The blank stares he got in return were enough to give him the answer to that one. “Fair enough. Once I’d defeated Scrooge, I slowly lost my drive, my purpose in life. I’d defined so much of myself in being against Scrooge, I didn’t even know who Flintheart Glomgold actually was! I mean, my real name isn’t even Flintheart Glomgold, you know. So I decided to come back and reflect on where it all started, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so that explains your own little personal journey, but why are </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>here?” Goldie asked. “You could have just met us in Cape Town. It would have saved us an entirely too long drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold smiled. “Well, I was thinking about legacies. You know I haven’t got too much time left for this world, not unless you give me the secret to that Fountain of Youth, and I know you won’t. And I started to think about my own legacy-- who would remember me fondly, once I passed? And the answer was basically no one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie frowned-- this story was going in entirely too sappy of a direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I decided on something of a deal. Let Louie stay with me for a year, get a real bond with him, and I’ll write him in as the heir on my will. Currently it’s all just going to be divided up amongst those damn vultures on the investment board, so it’s no problem with me to deny the heartless bastards some of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie looked at Louie immediately, and he could see the gears turning inside her head. “Mom, you can’t be seriously thinking about leaving me with this guy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I mention my assets are worth around 82 billion dollars?” Glomgold added, to sweeten the deal. “Not too bad a haul, for spending a year in the South African desert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you think I’m going to leave my kid for a year, then you’ve got another thing coming, you geriatric son of a--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can stay, if ya want. Just figured you’d prefer to keep to the road. It’s always been your style, right?” Glomgold pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I even going to be doing here? Is this like, legal? Do you even have wi-fi?” Louie asked, each question more frantic than the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I imagine you’ll be helping me around the house, helping with the garden-- as for legality, I didn’t realize that was something the two of you were particularly concerned with. And there’s no wi-fi in yet, no.” Glomgold answered the questions one by one as the kettle started to hiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that’s for the tea. Do you prefer Earl Grey or-- well, I’ve only got Earl Grey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take a cup. Listen, Glomgold, how do we even know you’ll live long enough to uphold your end of the deal? If you croak early the lawyers will smell blood and we won’t see a red cent of anything on your end.” Goldie pointed out, suspicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold nodded as he popped open one of the tiny cupboards and pulled out a box of Earl Grey tea, plopping one of the errant bags into a stray, chipped cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve every right to be suspicious. I did have a rewrite of my will made, held in a secure location, already. Witnessed and notarized by a trusted-- more like, well-paid source. If I die, I’ll make sure to let you know where to find it before I properly croak.” Glomgold assured. “Any other questions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it have to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Louie asked. “Like, seriously. Couldn’t you do this in civilization?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When Scrooge was alive, he always used to chastise me for taking the easy way. This is my first time listening to that advice, I suppose. We could do it in Beagleburg, but that’s rather outside the spirit of the game, isn’t it?” Glomgold explained, stroking his wisp of a beard-- not the thick grey fake Louie was used to, but actual white hairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is all about Scrooge again.” Louie muttered, crossing his arms. “I’m just another piece in your attempt to one-up from beyond the grave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold frowned. “I know it must seem that way from your perspective, but I want you to believe me when I say I’m a changed man, Louie. What me and Scrooge had was between us, same as it was with him and Goldie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie recoiled in disgust. “You mean that you and he were like a--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No, that’s not what I meant at all. Goodness, kids these days!” Glomgold exclaimed, pinching his forehead in frustration. “I meant that the enmity between me and Scrooge-- it tinged my opinion of you at first, Louie, but you’ve come into your own as a fine young man. And, no offense to Goldie, but you could use a male support figure in your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie paused sipping her tea to narrow her eyes. “And here I thought I was old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a slight on you, Goldie. I just thought he might want to get a bit more of a classic experience-- agh, I’m explaining it all wrong. Look, I’m going to go check on the garden and let you two talk about it. There’s no tricks here, just an old man looking to make some amends at the end of his life.” The old man made his way out the backdoor, leaving Goldie and Louie alone in the dingy house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I would have been a lot more comfortable if this was a trap.” Louie admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and me both, squirt.” Goldie nodded. “Still, 82 billion dollars for a year with a sad old man in the desert… it’s a pretty good pay off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t he say he already had a changed copy? Why don’t we just find that one and leave him behind?” Louie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because he won’t throw his weight behind us if we do, he’ll just have it changed back to his investors getting everything. Not unless we kill him, and even for that much money I’d still rather not go that far.” Goldie replied. “Maybe we could get him back to Beagleburg? It’d at least be more bearable, and you could go to school and make friends. Stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a wi-fi connection and the ability to actually walk to a place that matters.” Louie mumbled his additions to the list. “Besides, I like our life! It’s you and me against the world, right? I get to explore, I get to meet interesting people-- why settle down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“82 billion dollars.” Goldie answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, yeah, fair.” Louie nodded. “But still. A year is a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie laughed. “Oh man, sometimes I forget how young you are. Kid, I’m 150 years old. Trust me, a year is a drop in the bucket. Hell, I spent five years just trapped in ice! There’s a lot worse situations you could be in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie moaned again. “But he’s so old! And he wants me to do stuff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“82. Billion. Dollars. With a ‘B’.” Goldie said in response. “You would literally be the richest duck on the planet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Alright, fine. But we’re doing this in Beagleburg! I don’t want to spend a year out in the wilderness, suffering in the heat.” Louie protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie laughed. “Alright, ya big softie. We can get him to Beagleburg, that I’m pretty sure of. He can take up community gardening or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie was about to ask a question about where they would live when a sudden wind began to blow through the drafty house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, finally, the A/C is working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, do you hear that?” Goldie asked, pulling down one of the window shades to get a look outside. “Sounds like… a really, really big helicopter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie perked his ears. He could faintly make out some kind of whirring sound in the distance. “Yeah, it sounds like a giant fan…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there was a huge </span>
  <em>
    <span>boom</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the sound of gunfire and cannons that was all too familiar. The shockwave tore through the house, ripping shelves off of the walls and shattering the cup of tea that Goldie had been holding. Shards of porcelain were lodged in her hand, leading to a bright red trickle of blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ok, squirt?” She immediately ran over to Louie, who’d been thrown off the couch and down through the table, which had been reduced to splinters. Groggy, Louie took a moment to focus, clenching and unclenching his fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine… I think. Maybe a concussion? This feels a little bit like a concussion.” Louie rambled, holding his hands in front of his face. “Man, I have a lot of fingers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Okay, squirt, we’re getting out of here.” Goldie decided, picking up Louie and tucking him under her arm. “Maternal authority taking precedence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Glomgold?” Louie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie’s face contorted with indecision, torn between getting out with all limbs intact and the thought her big payday could be under threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“82 billion dollars.” Louie mumbled, almost incoherent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That settled the matter. Goldie slammed the backdoor open, greeted by the sight of a small vegetable garden that had been completely turned over, and Flintheart Glomgold lying prone on the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, shit, shit! Glomgold? You still with us?” Goldie asked, poking him gingerly with a flipper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man groaned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh thank God. Alright, it’s time for us to get the hell out of dodge, boys. Glomgold, I need you to get up. Come on.” Goldie ordered, waiting for the man to snap out of it. He just moaned something in Afrikaans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up, dammit! Or are you letting Scrooge McDuck beat you in yet another category!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold’s eyes popped open. They were unsteady, uneven, but still with them. “I’m here to win!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then act like it! Get up before whatever bombarded us gets here!” Goldie shouted, furious. “And you’re sitting in the back of the car, by the way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold made his way onto his feet, unsteadily swaying in the wind. “Oh, would you look at that, there’s a big metal bird out there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie looked over Goldie’s shoulder, making out the hazy grey silhouette of something in the distance. He squinted, trying to get his eyes to focus properly as they were exposed to the harsh sands flying through the air. The ship really did look like a bird-- a metal beak at the front, and oddly shaped wings jutting out from the side of it’s garish purple body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A noise suddenly boomed out, permeated with the crackle of radio static. The ship’s loudspeaker broadcast out to them, the captain’s voice amplified immensely, making Louie wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Salivations! This is Don Karnage. Flintheart Glomgold, please be being prepared for your kidnapping and ransom!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice was a blend of accents from everywhere, veering from French to Colombian before finally settling on Dutch for the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>ransom</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Louie heard Goldie swear, although he couldn’t make out the specific word. It was going to be an even longer and more stressful drive back to Cape Town.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Dewey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the wait, school started picking up. I'm not 100% sure how I feel about this chapter but it felt like the direction the story was pulling me.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dewey gripped the edge of the chair with his good hand as he watched the bombardment of the desert wastes. There was a huge boom, the sands flying and exploding into a mushroom cloud and swirling around the tiny shack in the desert below. It seemed like a pretty small place for the richest duck in the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Dad?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up, Dewster?” Launchpad asked, eyes locked in concentration. “Little bit busy trying to make sure we… don’t… crash.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure we’re in the right place? I thought we were supposed to be raiding the richest duck in the world.” Dewey continued. “I mean, this is just like a hole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I followed the coordinates we got to the letter-- uh, more like number, I guess. This is definitely where we’re supposed to be.” Launchpad nodded at his own answer while Don Karnage swept through the room. His boots clicked against the steel floor as he snatched the receiver in his hands and made an announcement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All pirates, prepare for battle! We do not know what defenses the odd exterior of this compound hides. We will depart in three minutes!” The captain clicked the radio off, then turned his gaze towards Dewey. “It is intelligent of you to see how oddly disguised our kidnapee is. I do not know what kind of game he is up to, but if you want to come with me and see for yourself you are definitely welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, babe, I’m not sure I want to have Dewey down there? It seems like a bad place for a kid to be, I think.” Launchpad faltered in his protests, as if even he wasn’t sure how effective they were.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, the entire crew will be with us. If you want to come keep him safe, you are obviously quite welcome to come with!” Don Karnage said warmly. “I think it will be a good experience for the boy. Not every day is someone’s first kidnapping!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plus I’ll be down there.” Meg added. “And if you think I’m gonna let some slimy prick touch him, you’ve got another thing coming.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad’s shoulders slumped, and he turned to Dewey. “How about you, little buddy? Do you want to go down there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems pretty cool. At least I’d be able to get off the ship for a little bit.” Dewey nodded. “I’ll be fine! I’ve got a sword and everything!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Cool. I’ll just keep us smooth and ready to take off, so at the first sign of trouble you just hop right back on board, okay? We’ll take off as quickly as we can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll wait for us too, right?” Meg asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Launchpad startled, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Oh, yeah! You can come with us too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Well, I guess being stranded in the desert won’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me. C’mon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stick close to me.” Meg reached out and grabbed Dewey’s hand gently. “So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>patron</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what’s the plan?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, first we assess the situation, get the shack surrounded, and figure out who or what is inside. Then, we find the trillionaire. We sedate him, being careful as he is a very old man, and record him to send a ransom video to his company. Simple as can be, very quick and easy.” Don Karnage recounted. “I’ve got a syringe in my vest, and it will make quick sleepy time for any person who is injected with it, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, right. And any opposition?” Meg asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We will make quick work of. My informant told me that there shouldn’t be too much security out here. It looks like he was right! The bombs didn’t even trigger anything!” Don Karnage crowed triumphantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ooh, maybe it’s because like, the old guy is actually a super powerful martial artist! He’s his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own </span>
  </em>
  <span>security!” Dewey piped up, excited. “Then when we try to take him out, he bursts out all of his ninja moves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw Meg give a knowing glance towards the captain. “Oh, c’mon! It’s not that far out to think about. Crazy old guy survivalist in the desert wilderness? That’s a total movie thing!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m sure whatever moves he takes out, Champopular will be able to deal with it. You ever seen a guy with arthritis try to make a karate chop? Not a pretty picture.” Meg said sweetly, giving his hand a squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, well when he breaks your wrist don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Dewey pouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The landing bay rattled open, metal gears wheezing as the metal walkway slowly lowered down into the sands. Outside, Dewey could see a truck flipped over on it’s side and the sheet metal which had been covering the house ripped out into the desert.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>patron</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Wait and see who comes out, or just smash and grab?” Meg asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a better idea.” Don Karnage replied. He cleared his throat, and then began to loudly announce in the desert.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello! I, the great Don Karnage, have arrived at your small, derelict house in the desert to kidnap you! Seeing as we do not have the ability to know what weapons you have inside, you have thirty seconds to leave the house before we fully bombard it. I highly suggest you lay down your weapons and leave!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, the captain reached into his jacket and pulled out a radio. “To fleet in the sky-- in 30 seconds, I want that cabin obliterated. Do you understand me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t that seem kind of… dishonorable?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>! It would be most dishonorable if I hadn’t informed them of the bombardment, but in battle one must not be afraid to use their weapons as soon as possible. There is nothing dishonorable about fighting to win, eh?” Don Karnage reassured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were some long, silent seconds as the small gathering of pirates watched the house intensely. Sand drifted freely along the wind, and various small parts of the shack continued to disintegrate under the loss of structural integrity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don Karnage checked his watch. “I sincerely hope the old man doesn’t intend to die. It’ll make the whole thing a waste of time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shack’s door was kicked open by an older blonde woman, a sleeping child tucked under her arm, and in the other hand she held an older man Dewey assumed to be the richest duck in the world. He didn’t look terribly dignified, in Dewey’s opinion-- his eyes were crossed, his mouth was slack, and he seemed to be babbling while drool dripped into his whispy white beard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, well that would be our target… and two unexpected guests!” Don Karnage purred. The green-eyed woman glared at them from across the way, stalking over to them, only momentarily interrupted by the explosion of the dingy shack which she had only just left. This served only to increase the intensity of her glare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Patron</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s a kid. I don’t feel very good with the way this is headed.” Meg said, pulling Dewey further behind her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If she’s bringing the kid, it probably means she’s surrendering. Don’t worry, Meg, this is a very good thing.” Don Karnage smiled. “Salivations! Have you come to be kidnapped as well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman was finally close enough to talk to them properly. “No, I came here to ask you what in the hell you were thinking as you opened fire on a woman, her child, and her senile grandpa!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you and I both know that’s no ordinary senile grandpa. Come now, cut the act.” Don Karnage said, refusing to budge an inch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? Who do you think he is, then?” The woman demanded, dropping the child in her other arm gently onto the floor. “I’ll be lucky if they aren’t both concussed, by the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey heard Meg gasp, and felt her squeeze his hand tighter. “Meg, you’re holding on too tight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Meg whispered, loosening her grip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I happen to know for a fact that old man is Flintheart Glomgold. And I also happen to know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>are Goldie O’Gilt, so it would be very nice of you to drop the act and take this seriously.” Don Karnage answered, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And here I thought my old man was senile.” Goldie replied evenly. “Look, do you have medical supplies on your ship?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Plenty.” Don Karnage confirmed. “You can get your child and the old man patched up easily.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goldie nodded, deliberating. “...We don’t have to be kidnapped with him, do we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, so much for family loyalty.” Dewey joked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shut it, kid.” Goldie snapped. “I just want my son patched up and taken care of. He’s the priority.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re not curious?” Meg asked suddenly. Don Karnage shot her a glare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Curious about what?” Goldie shot back, nonchalant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your son, and Dewey-- they look exactly the same.” Meg pointed out. Dewey glanced at the other kid, whose face was now turned upward in the sand. Sure, the beak looked pretty similar, but the hair was pretty different. Plus, Dewey had a super cool scar from a wrestling fight that the other kid was definitely missing, and the other kid’s skin was a lot softer than Dewey’s own, calloused by hard work and exercise in stormy weather.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goldie gave Dewey a cursory look, and then shrugged. “I don’t see the resemblance. Besides, I think I would have remembered laying twins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have any questions at all?” Meg asked incredulously, but before she could continue her tirade Don Karnage lifted a hand to cut her off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meg, we will be able to question as much as we want while she’s in the infirmary and the old man is firmly in our custody. For now, let’s focus on the payday, </span>
  <em>
    <span>si?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Don Karnage offered, lazily pointing his saber at the babbling old guy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, so do I have like, a secret brother?” Dewey asked. “Oh man, that’s so cool! I get to have an evil twin! Like Darkwing Duck and Negaduck!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have an evil anything, twerp.” Goldie shot him down. “This is my son, who has no siblings, and once we’re clear to go we’ll be out of your hair. No. Questions. Asked. Got it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She punctuated the question with a glare towards Meg, who spat in the sand. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about your probably stolen kid, I won’t force you to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you.” The blonde shoved her older companion towards them. “You can tie him up or do whatever you want with him. If you want to stay on his good side, make him some tea. He’s been really getting into it lately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don Karnage nodded and took a step forward to collect the delicate cargo when the air was filled by the sound of another explosion. His face turned into a murderous snarl as he ripped the radio from his jacket again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What on Earth are you doing? I haven’t ordered any more fire!” He howled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The radio crackled back to life with a response. “That’s not us, sir-- there’s something else up in the sky with us! It’s like a--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The radio died as the air swelled with yet another explosion, and a sleek white ship touched down on the sand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A thousand blistering damnations! Meg, get everyone into the Vulture. Make sure Dewey is safe, and then get us out of here as fast as possible!” Don Karnage shouted, reaching for the old trillionaire in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, what about our medical supplies?” Goldie asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can either stick with us, or our new unexpected guests who just shot down two planes without warning. The choice is yours.” Don Karnage intonated darkly. “But between the two, at least we have something resembling honor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goldie looked at the new ship, where the door slid open to reveal some Silicon Valley type egghead. He pointed a weapon at them and shouted something Dewey couldn’t make out over the sound of yet another explosion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Decision made, let’s go.” Goldie hefted her son over her shoulder and made to enter the ship, but was cut off by a laser singing the sand underneath her feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said, not so fast!” The demented voice carried out across the sand. “I’m not letting you go until you return the two children you’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>kidnapped</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I see what the situation is here.” Don Karnage nodded. Suddenly, Dewey felt the cold bite of steel against his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, Don Karnage? What are you doing?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>patron</span>
  </em>
  <span>. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>you doing?” Meg agreed, her free hand falling down to her hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am leveraging our resources.” The captain replied simply to the two of them. “Don’t worry, it’s the dull edge of the blade.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey relaxed, letting out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shoot me, and you take the boy in the same shot!” Don Karnage called out to the new arrival. “So you’d better be certain it’s worth something to you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man in the glasses wavered, but his aim was still trained on them. “All I want is to return these two lost children to their family. If you get in the way of that? I’m more than happy to allow my assistant to cut down your forces ship by ship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if to punctuate the threat, another explosion boomed through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid you misunderstand the situation. Neither of these children are lost! Dewey’s here with his family, has been since he was born. If anything, you’d be the one doing the kidnapping here.” Don Karnage replied. “I’m not the man who came in and started negotiations with murder.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man from the ship started walking closer. “No, no, no, I know exactly who those two kids you have are, and where they belong!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Screw that!” Dewey yelled. “I belong right here. I’m a sky pirate! I fly the skies, just like my Mom did!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meg gave Dewey’s hand a gentle squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my Lord, is this a kidnapping convention?” Goldie asked rhetorically. “Listen, egghead, I don’t know who you’re looking for, but you’re definitely not looking for us. Now I’m going to take my </span>
  <em>
    <span>son</span>
  </em>
  <span>, who is mine, and leave the two of you to sort things out. Does that sound okay? Before we all die in a horrible explosion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air was filled with the awful noise of another laser striking the sand, the skinny crazy guy’s eyes glowing with anger and his hand trembling on the trigger finger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I guess not.” Goldie conceded, stepping back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something new landed in the sand with a rough impact, small and grey. Dewey realized that it was a kid, wearing a sweater… in the Kalahari?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi! I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy!” The grey thing squawked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, very good job B.O.Y.D. Now, onward with the mission!” The crazed roboticist said, his gun still pointed in Dewey’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes sir, Dr. Gearloose!” Boyd chimed, his eyes suddenly turning red. The kid-shaped robot started to fly. “Please give up the child, or I will have to shoot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey felt the blade turn on his throat, and an uncomfortable nick drew blood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Patron</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what the hell are you doing?” Meg asked, furious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, now this might be the only thing that saves our lives.” Don Karnage pointed out. “Now, little boy-- robot thing! You and I both know if you shoot, you lose your objective. So let’s be sensible about this, eh? Why not give the kid a choice in where he goes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Dewey yelled, earning another cut on his neck for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hush, the grownups are talking.” Don Karnage reprimanded him. “Put down your weapons and we might be able to come to an agreement.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gearloose lowered his gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excellent. Now, let’s talk, eh?” Don Karnage encouraged him, dropping his sword from Dewey’s throat by a few inches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“B.O.Y.D, I want you to destroy everything on that ship.” The doctor ordered the android. “Until they hand over our charges.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The robot nodded, flying up and past both of them. The doctor let out a harsh laugh. “So, you want negotiations? Here’s a negotiation-- everything else you have and the kid, or just the kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A hard bargain.” Don Karnage replied coolly, lowering his blade from Dewey’s throat entirely. Meg whirled on the captain, snarling about how they couldn’t give their kid to a maniac.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey, for his part, immediately dashed back into the ship. “Dad!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could hear the doctor sputtering behind him, but he didn’t care, his feet slapping against the cold metal and trying to ignore the noises coming from the hull as the robot thing tore the home he’d lived in for his entire life apart. He could hear the insane doctor calling for him, even using his full name.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Up the stairs, two at a time, and then down the hall to see the cockpit door had already been melted open by a pair of lasers. And the interior of it… was a complete wreck, fires everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dad!” Dewy called out again. “Dad, where are you? Get out here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kicked over the pilot’s chair that had been ripped from the floor, no Dad. He looked to the locker Launchpad would sometimes get stuck in, but it had been shredded to pieces. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and in a fit of panic he struck with his saber at whoever was trying to take him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he looked more clearly, he saw his sword had gotten stuck in the same thing that had destroyed the ship. Snarling, he wrenched his sword out and struck it again, pulling out wires and metal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi! I’m Boyd, a definitely real boy! Please remain calm while I escort you to safety.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing’s iron grip wrapped around him, and Dewey felt the familiar sensation of weightlessness from flying, twisted by the machine that clung to him like a vise. He tried to lift his sword to strike at it again, but he was too wrapped up in it’s coils to get any force.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt hot tears rolling down his face, and he couldn’t even hold them back. The robot dropped him in the sand next to the doctor who’d just destroyed his entire life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dewey! It’s okay, you’re safe now. You don’t have to worry about these pirates anymore.” The lanky bastard reached a hand to touch him, comfort him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meg, noticing that Dewey was back, ran up to him, only to be rewarded with a laser blasting off her peg leg as the man who’d done all of this tried to hug him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling the weight of his sword, which he’d clung to the entire day, Dewey let it guide him into the right position and barely even noticed the difference between swinging it through the air and swinging it through someone’s flesh. He didn’t realize that the doctor had been taken away by the robot thing until Meg had him pulled into a hug, whispering that everything would be okay to him as the world he’d known for the last ten years slowly burned down.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Huey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Huey and Fethry had watched the entire operation go to hell from Boyd’s perspective in the safety of the ship. Now, Gearloose was writhing in agony because of the kid he’d been trying to save, a wide gash cutting through his thigh, the tendons barely keeping it together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huey, don’t look at this!” Uncle Fethry slapped a hand over Huey’s eyes. “Go get in the cockpit and set the autopilot for Cape Town. Me and Boyd will try and make sure Gearloose stays alive until someone else can treat him!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey felt Fethry shove him towards the pilot’s seat, and with shaky fingers he typed in the city to jet off too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dr. Gearloose was dying. That couldn’t be right, he was like, the smartest and most powerful person alive. He couldn’t just-- could he? People don’t just die.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey stared at the redness of the desert. All of those other people, the ones in the planes, they’d died too. Just like that. And his brothers-- were those his brothers? Had they been raised to like, kill people?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew that they’d never actually met, so it probably seemed rational on their point, but who just goes and attacks somebody’s-- well, not really dad. Or uncle, even. Dr. Gearloose was never keen on the whole familial relations bit. But he was something to Huey, and now he was just dying. On the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, no, he wasn’t going to die. Uncle Fethry had experience in first aid and Boyd was-- well, Boyd was Boyd. He had hundreds of different subroutines for medical procedures, he’d always been the person patching up Huey’s scratches from running too fast and tripping on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The desert slowly transitioned from red to green as the rugged hills of the southern coast creeped into view. Huey felt a hand being placed on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, little buddy. How are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey didn’t even know how to answer that question, so he just pushed everything down and said “I’m okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fethry frowned. “It’s okay to not be okay, just so you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. I’m just like-- I’m feeling way too much, and if I feel it all now I’m not going to be useful, so I just need to…” Huey tried to think of the right way to phrase it, “I need to just pack it away and bring it back out when I’m in a place I can deal with it. Is that okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Huey. And I’ll be there with you when you need me.” Fethry gave him a light hug. “I’m going to go check back in on the doctor. Let me know when we’re in Cape Town, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded, his eyes locked on the horizon. By the time Cape Town was visible below, the sun had started to set. Yellow lights lit up the city in a way that would have been beautiful if Huey had been in the state to appreciate it. Instead, he just turned around and made his way into the main holding area.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gyro was breathing heavily on the table, his eyes not focusing. Fethry was holding Boyd’s hand, who looked extremely concerned by what was happening in front of him. Gyro’s leg was wrapped together, pieces of flesh stapled closer together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re almost in Cape Town. It should be about 15 minutes.” Huey informed them, trying not to focus on the bleeding, struggling elephant in the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Huey. I’m going to call the hospital, let them know we’re coming in. Can you keep Boyd company?” Fethry asked, making his way to the pilot’s seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded, taking a seat next to Boyd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few awkward seconds of silence presided, until Huey filled the silence with a question. “So, uh… how are you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Boyd turned to look at him. “You guys are all so fragile. I didn’t really think about it until-- well, until it applied to people I care about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey awkwardly laughed. “Yeah. I couldn’t even think about seeing Dr. Gearloose as anything other than somebody totally in control, and now he’s--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cut himself off, not sure what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I really hope he doesn’t die.” Huey decided to finish his sentence with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s stable. Heart pumping, lungs working, blood flow mostly controlled.” Boyd rattled off. “... But I really hope he doesn’t die either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were silent until the ship finally landed at the hospital, when a crew of medical workers rushed in to retrieve Gyro. Fethry was talking with them hurriedly, noting conditions, stability, timing, everything relevant. Huey made to follow them into the hospital, but Fethry held him back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, this is probably going to take a while, so why don’t you kids explore Cape Town while we try to… well, you know.” Fethry added awkwardly at the end. “You should at least get some good memories for this whole adventure. There’s a restaurant down the street you can wait in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what if it’s not safe? What if I get stabbed!” Huey added in a panicked note on the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve got Boyd with you, and I really don’t think two of us are going to get stabbed in the same night. Just… stick together, and stay in well lit areas.” Fethry put a comforting hand on Huey’s shoulder. “I love you, little guy. I’m not going to let you go into anything dangerous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded, reaching out to hold Boyd’s hand as they walked away from the lights of the hospital. The streets were still warm, with the occasional breeze serving to cool it down. Much less hot than the Kalahari had been, but still out of Huey’s comfort zone. He could feel the sweat on his neck and face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, he said a restaurant-- Boyd, can you even eat?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m able to convert biomass into fuel! It’s not very efficient, but I can do it.” Boyd replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, cool. So that’s good. Uh, what do you want to get?” Huey asked as they crossed the dark road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve always wanted to have a hamburger!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Hamburger it is!” Huey nodded, opening the door to the restaurant. “Hopefully nothing can go quite as wrong with this kind of adventure as the other one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Boyd nodded. “It’d be very improbable. This restaurant has 4.5 star reviews online! So they probably won’t try to poison us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. That’s good.” Huey said weakly. The restaurant’s fluorescent lights gave a bleak view of the leather booths and bar seating available. “I guess we just take a booth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Boyd’s eyes flashed as he scanned the restaurant. “It would appear so!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The two slid into a booth, Huey awkwardly rapping his knuckles as they waited for a server to appear. He tried to think of a topic for discussion, but everything just kept looping back around to what had happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not something he wanted to talk about right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The average temperature in here fluctuates by about 0.003 degrees every thirty seconds.” Boyd noted awkwardly. “That’s… interesting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Huey said. “Where’s the server?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if on cue, a woman showed up to their booth and threw some menus down. “You kids let me know what you want next time I come around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way she said it was as a statement, not a question, and with that she turned on her hell and left. Huey picked up his own menu, scanning through the options. It was a sort of traditional Americana style diner, odd to see in South Africa but not a choice he wanted to question just yet. He’d never had the style of food before, so he was curious to see what it would be like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of the pictures showed food that looked as if it had been drenched in greases and fats. Giant slices of tomato and lettuce were slathered in yellow cheese. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did all hamburgers look like this? How did people manage to eat them in one sitting?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He settled on what looked like the most manageable one, the Junior Burger. Evidently it was just for kids, although Huey couldn’t figure out how that wasn’t enough to last somebody a day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what looks good to you, Boyd?” Huey asked casually.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Mega Burger contains the most potential biofuel, so I’ll probably get that one!” Boyd exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey looked at the picture of it on the menu, a massive stack of three patties along with a hoard of vegetables slathered on it. “Wow, that’ll take a while, huh? I think I’m just going to get the junior burger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Boyd nodded. “You can try some of mine, if you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Awkward silence settled in the booth once again. “... Do you think he’ll actually die?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Boyd looked surprised at the question. Huey immediately felt like an idiot. “I mean-- you know what, we don’t have to talk about it, forget I asked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that he’s going to live through it. I mean, I did-- I put everything together. If he does… die, it’ll be because I-- I wasn’t good enough.” Boyd admitted. “But I have to be good enough, right? He was counting on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyd, no, it’s not your fault if he dies. Did you stab him?” Huey asked seriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that was the target who did that, but--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you didn’t stab him, then it’s not your fault if he dies. Only the person who actually attacked him is responsible for that.” Huey interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Okay.” Boyd accepted, eyes flicking towards the window to look at the hospital.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A quiet settled in again, more comfortable than what had been there before. Huey just let himself take in the diner-- the smell, the sound, the swinging of the ceiling fans. The doorbell rang again, and two chatty girls walked in excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, so this is an actual diner! This is amazing!” The younger of the two, her hair dyed black, shouted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, show a little bit of discretion, kiddo! We’ve been to diners before, </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” An older voice chastised her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. Yes, we’ve definitely been to diners before and know how they work!” The younger girl exclaimed. Huey could practically hear her winking with the last part.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, the two girls were peering into their booth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi, I’m Webby!” The black haired girl held out her hand, a strange tattoo on her wrist. Not sure what else to do, Huey grabbed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi… I’m Huey?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older girl-- Huey guessed Webby’s sister-- let out a sigh. “Webby, c’mon, we don’t need to bother other people. Let’s find our own booth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, no, it’s fine! We’ve never actually been in a diner either, and we kind of don’t have anything to talk about.” Huey admitted, patting the empty leather next to him. “Besides, my uncle wanted us to have a new experience, so why not, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oookay. Webby, do you really want to sit with these guys?” Her sister asked skeptically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For her part, Webby looked like she was going to die from excitement. “Are you kidding me! Of course I do! This is just like High School Drama Teens!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older girl rolled her eyes. “I have really got to cut you off the cable. Alright, kiddo, let’s sit down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby took the seat next to Huey, and Boyd scooted over to make room for the older girl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Lena, by the way. So, this is your first time in a diner?” Lena asked, levelling a stare at Huey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah-- I mean, I’ve spent most of my life in an underwater research facility? We’re really only here because of the…” Huey looked towards the hospital. “Hopefully we shouldn’t be here for too long.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, ouch. That’s really got to suck, kid.” Lena sympathized. She turned her attention to Boyd. “What about you, what’s your deal? Are you guys brothers, or?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Boyd! A definitely real boy!” Boyd answered confidently. “I’m supposed to look after Huey while he’s exploring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh?” Lena asked, eyebrow raised. “You guys both look the same age.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Boyd’s like… my cousin, I guess?” Huey offered awkwardly. “It’s his do-- his dad in the hospital. So my uncle sent us to the restaurant to like, distract us, I guess?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, that is really sad.” Lena stated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. So… how about your guys? Are you from Cape Town?” Huey asked, trying to turn the conversation elsewhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, we live with my mother in Italy! But we--” Webby began, and Lena cut her off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But we are down here on vacation! Enjoying the South African sun, the ocean waves, all of that kind of stuff. It’s a beautiful city, you know. Cape Town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah. So are you sisters then?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cousins, technically. But we might as well be sisters! Lena’s the best big sister you could ask for!” Webby added excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess me and Boyd are kinda the same way.” Huey said. “Although we’re closer in age.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you saying I’m not your best big brother?” Boyd asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No, I’m older than you! If anything, you’re the little brother in this situation.” Huey said defensively.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’m here to prote--” Boyd started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But nothing! Just because you’re stronger than me doesn’t mean you’re older, obviously.” Huey defended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh boy, that sounds like a whole complex there. So, what’s on the menu?” Lena asked, scooping up one of the menus the boys had abandoned. “Wow, these are a lot of hamburger options.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, right? The portions are huge. I’m just getting the Junior Burger.” Huey said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What! How can you go for the Junior Burger when you have so many options! These are so crazy, I wanna try </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of them.” Webby said, her eyes roving over the menu. “Look, one of these is even made with </span>
  <em>
    <span>fried banana</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That’s crazy! I want 12.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re only gonna get one burger kiddo, so you should probably choose wisely.” Lena shot the idea down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want to get something I know I can eat. Besides, my uncle says we need to start thinking about finance stuff, so I don’t want to spend a bunch of money.” Huey explained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is he talking about finances? There shouldn’t be any slowing to the doctor’s funding any time soon.” Boyd asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, just like, reasons. Learning to be responsible, and stuff.” Huey answered hurriedly, slamming his menu down. “So, what are you gonna get, Lena?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me? I’m getting the steak one. Can always go for some dark meat. What about you, kiddo, you find anything yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby’s eyes were furrowed in concentration. “Ugh, there’s so many options… Are you sure I can’t get more than one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m sure. We’ve gotta get back soon, so the less time eating the better.” Lena reminded her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fiiine. Classic Americana Burger, then. It’ll be just like the show!” Webby exclaimed excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have got to stop watching that show. Don’t you know TV rots your brain?” Lena teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, what even is High School Drama Teens?” Huey interrupted to ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, now you’ve done it.” Lena sighed as Webby beamed with excitement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so there’s this classic American high school in Beagleburg, and there are these four teens who…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time the waitress returned, Huey had gotten through three episodes of the show as described by Webby. Once they had gotten through eating, she’d just about reached the season finale, punctuating dialogue with mock explosions and shooting noises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was strange to consider this a good night while one of his closest family members was in the hospital, but there was a warmth and comfort to everything happening Huey hadn’t felt for a long time.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Louie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Louie woke up in the shotgun seat of the truck they’d arrived in, his head wrapped in bandages. His mom had a firm grip on the steering wheel, her eyes focused on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom? What happened?” Louie looked in the back to find three passengers. Glomgold he recognized, and then an older Hispanic woman and some kid with a scar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the good news is we got out with our meal ticket still in one piece.” Goldie said, jerking a finger to indicate Glomgold. “The bad news is, you’ve both got concussions and we picked up some traumatized kid and his… Mom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not his mom.” The woman in the back that Louie now realized was missing a leg spoke up. “He’s my kid, but we’re not… you know. Related.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie shrugged. “You helped raise him for ten years, far as I’m concerned that’s the same thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense coming from you.” The woman in the back said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, is there anything you want to say that would piss off your driver, Meg?” Goldie asked. “Because if you want to walk all the way to Cape Town, believe me, you’re more than welcome. This is already a big act of charity for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman hugged the kid sleeping in her lap closer. “No, we don’t need that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie chose not to think about what they were saying too much. “Hey, Glomgold? Are you awake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man coughed. “Still up and kicking, lad. Just barely! Nearly introduced myself as Duke Baloney for a second. Wouldn’t that be silly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh… yeah, I guess. Was your house just totally wrecked?” Louie asked. “I feel like there were a lot of explosions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All gone! Completely destroyed. All that hard work, completely destroyed by some entrepreneurial pirates. Feels odd, really, to be on the other end of that.” Glomgold admitted. “I’ve got a lot of amendments to make.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was just business.” Meg sniffed. “If you’d gotten out of your house sooner, like the captain said, none of that would have happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No arguing in the back seat or I swear I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>turn this car back around!” Goldie growled. “It’s a miracle we could even get it up and running in the first place and if you refuse to appreciate that miracle, I will toss you out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence ruled in the car again. “So, uh, what actually happened?” Louie asked his mom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some crazy scientist guy with a vendetta went nuts and almost killed everybody. Probably would have succeeded, if the kid in the back hadn’t buried a sword right into his guts. As much as I hate to admit it, we all owe our lives to a tantrum-throwing ten year old.” Goldie shuddered at the admission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. What was he looking for?” Louie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, who knows? All I know is I want to be as far away from him as possible.” Goldie said. Louie heard a grunt come from the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, is there something going on here? Do you two know each other, or something? Cause it kind of feels like there’s a grudge I’m not getting.” Louie said, looking from Goldie to Meg and back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only met today. Just my luck.” Meg replied. “Didn’t think I’d get to meet the biggest bitch in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Goldie shouted, slamming on the brakes. “At this point, you’re just begging to be thrown out into the desert. You know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goldie, please.” Glomgold piped up. “We can’t just leave a kid to die in the desert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, we definitely can.” Louie pointed out. “We probably shouldn’t, but it’s a possibility.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All I want to hear in this car is silence. Got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the car ride was dead silent. It wasn’t until the truck was making its way down rocky roads and sprayed by the ocean that Goldie started to talk again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re at the city limits. As far as I’m concerned, that’s our obligation fulfilled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She guided the truck off the road and put it in park. “You’re free to take your kid and go wherever. Just try not to talk to </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of us, ever again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My pleasure.” Meg shot back, rousing Dewey from his slumber. “C’mon, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, we need to get out of the car now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid woke up groggily, blinking his eyes. It was strange, looking at him. Louie’s hair was shinier and more well-kept, and he didn’t have the calluouses or the scars, but the face was eerily similar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They made eye contact for a brief second, and then the other kid broke it off, hopping out of the truck. The door slammed shut, and Goldie pulled the truck back onto the road. Louie watched the blue outlines fade smaller and smaller until they disappeared into the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Is it just me or did that kid look really familiar?” Louie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see any resemblance.” His mom replied. “He’s probably just got one of those faces, you know. Somebody who fits in anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glomgold?” Louie turned back to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Between you and me, kid, I’m right concussed and don’t know if I’m making any good comparisons between anything right now. You’re both young men, so you look the same to me.” Glomgold admitted, shrugging in apology. “I’m just glad that the atmosphere isn’t so intense! You could’ve cut the tension with a knife that whole car ride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where are we going now?” Louie turned his attention back to his mom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beagleburg, probably. I figure if we’re going to go anywhere, I’d like to be somewhere that some random crazy guy can’t just burst in with a robot and try to kill all of us.” Goldie answered. “Plus, if we’re going to stay in one place for a while, we could do a hell of a lot worse. It’s actually a decently sized city. I used to be there a lot, back when Scrooge was still around. Probably avoided it for too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I swear to both of you, as long as I have the power I’ll keep us all safe. I practically own that city these days. I mean, legally I suppose Ma Beagle has the deed, but I’ve got most of the property rights for individual buildings.” Glomgold added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan, then. A year on the down low, just living a normal life. Isn’t that exciting?” Goldie asked, smiling at the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. So we’ll just like, be in the same city? All year?” Louie was trying to wrap his head around the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s not too different from what we were thinking earlier. And it’s a big city-- there’ll still be stuff to explore once the year’s gone by.” Goldie said. “Whole lot of memories there too. I still remember when it was just this little shanty gold rush town. There was this old guy who used to play a banjo at the local tavern, and that’s where I met-- well, y’know. I wonder if it’s still around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s been a bit of a property crisis, recently. I wouldn’t be surprised if the space was bought up and turned into an office.” Glomgold said from the back. “Progress goes on, as they say!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie tsked. “Well, I hope it’s not gone anyway. Speaking of property, do you know where we’ll be staying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah! Do you have like, a super big mansion! Or maybe we could stay in a penthouse? With an infinity pool and a butler, and like--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie was cut off by Glomgold laughing. “Oh, definitely not that! It wouldn’t be very in the spirit of things, now would it? I’ve got this nice little condo on the south end of the bay, lovely view out onto the Pacific. It’s a little small, but I’m sure you’ll like it, Louie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie pursed his lips. “I mean, sure, but I’d definitely like a mansion better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The condo’s pretty nice on it’s own. I mean, it cost me a good 5 million, so it better be!” Glomgold added, trying to sweeten the deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... Does it have a pool?” Louie asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you need a pool when the ocean’s right there?” Glomgold asked incredulously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Other people can use the ocean, duh. A pool is for privacy.” Louie rolled his eyes at the old man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the building the condo is in does have a pool, but it’s for the whole building. So you’d still have to share it, I’m afraid.” Glomgold stroked his wispy beard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, laaaame.” Louie pouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You realize once the year is up you can just buy your own pool, right?” Goldie asked, eyes glowing with amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s still 365 days without a pool, mom! I’m the one suffering over here!” Louie held a hand over his suffering heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Don’t let him tug at the old heartstrings, Glomgold, he learned from the best.” Goldie said, tightening her grip on the wheel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Party pooper.” Louie grumbled, shifting in his seat. “When are we gonna stop to eat? I’m starving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think there’s a McDonalds up ahead. I can just pull in there.” Goldie informed him, looking at the road signs popping up as they approached the city proper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know this great little burger place by one of the local hospitals, if you want to stop for a moment.” Glomgold suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’d rather keep all stops minimal until we’re somewhere… more secure. I don’t even know how that guy found us, and the longer we’re standing still the easier it is for him to find us again.” Goldie gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “It’s just not a recipe for success.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so. McDonalds it is, then.” Glomgold acceded, flopping back in the car seat. “You’re sure we can’t stop by the hospital?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glomgold, if you can’t get a doctor to you at the airport then what can you do?” Goldie asked sharply. “If you’re the richest duck in the world, then act like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. No keeping a mother from protecting her son and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie made a sharp turn into the drive through. “Getting the usual, Louie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. Getting the usual.” Louie straightened up in his seat. “With no ice! Ice is a scam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie snorted. “You only say that because you drink all the soda before it gets cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, please. I was raised by a con woman, I should recognize a scam when I see one.” Louie scoffed. “They’re literally watering down your drink if you get ice!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, squirt. No ice, got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The order was placed quickly, and the siren call of fast food lived up to the fast part of its name. Once Louie had gotten his hands on the greasy bag of food, Goldie turned the truck back onto the road and bolted to the airport, going at speeds that were definitely illegal. She didn’t let her hands loosen the grip on the wheel until she had the truck parked, practically vaulting out of the car once it was in place. She paced off, then perked up like she was remembering something and popped her head back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Louie, stay in the car for a minute, okay sweetie?” She crooned sweetly, then slammed the car door shut and stalked off to kick a random light pole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s with her?” Glomgold asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, when she gets stressed she sometimes needs to take it out on something.” Louie answered, calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A scream rang out in the parking lot. “Whatever happened, it must have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>super </span>
  </em>
  <span>stressful. What did you guys get up to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, like your kid being concussed and knocked out in front of you isn’t stressful enough?” Glomgold pointed out. “And then driving with the people who tried to take you hostage, after claiming your kid wasn’t your own and trying to steal him? Who wouldn’t be stressed at that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Yeah.” Louie said numbly. “But hey, we got out alive!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A car alarm started honking in the background. Glomgold gulped, seeing that Goldie was coming back to the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ripped the car door open. “Alright, everybody out. Glomgold? Get a jet and a doctor. Louie? Finish your fries, squirt, and stick close to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glomgold toddled out of the car, looking significantly more lucid than he had when he’d entered it, and made a beeline for the airport doors. Louie shoved a handful of french fries in his mouth, watching his mom carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem really stressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I? Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Goldie shot him a mom-force stare, then broke it. “Yes, I’m stressed, Louie. I-- I knew that guy. Before. It was a piece of my life that I thought was firmly behind me, and it is freaking me out I have to see him again. He is unstable, dangerous, and he is evidently, firmly on our trail! So I am stressed. But mostly, I’m worried about you, squirt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Louie shrugged. “We’ve been through a lot before, right? We’ll be fine. You’re the strongest, most capable mom I could ask for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goldie smirked. “Flatterer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Learned from the best.” Louie replied, smiling. “But yeah, let’s not come back here anytime soon. I’m going to need a pretty good amount of distance before I can process like, any of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, good news, you’re gonna have a whole year to do that. Get some brand new experiences!” Goldie added, her mood a lot lighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a thud on the pavement. Glomgold had fallen over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, wow, he really does need a hospital. C’mon squirt, let’s get him somewhere safe.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Webby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Webby’s first time eating a hamburger was even more amazing than she’d thought it would be. Not only had she gotten to eat a real-life hamburger, but she’d even gotten to make two new friends! Sure, Lena insisted that they keep most of their actual life secret, but that just made it even more like an episode of High School Drama Teens, in her opinion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way back home had been a long walk, Webby excitedly recounting all of the things she’d talked about with Huey as Lena continually reminded her that she’d been in the same booth listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can see him again, right?” Webby asked suddenly as Lena fiddled with the key to the portal door, rattling open the abandoned shack their castle was connected to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena paused in the middle of her fiddling. “Let’s think about it after cleaning, okay? That’s kind of a tricky subject.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded, falling silent as the door opened back up into the base of the castle. The torches were dim at this time of night, flickering with a weak red light against the walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, how’d you like the burger?” Lena asked, changing the subject as they walked up the stairs. “Personally, I think mine was a bit too rich.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mine was </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Webby said confidently, beaming at the memory of her Triple Decker Classic Americana burger. Three meat patties covered in cheese, bacon, lettuce, onion, and tomato that had tasted absolutely amazing, with a bun thick enough to not fall apart but small enough to not completely overwhelm the taste with bread. “I bet there are people who eat stuff like that every day! Wouldn’t that be so cool? Eating burgers every day of the week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena chuckled, opening the door to the supply closet. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go shopping. I’ll add hamburger meat to the list of things I need to get. Do you mind helping me clean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby scoffed. “Do I mind spending time with my awesome sister from another mister? Obviously not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby grabbed one of the brooms and a cast iron dustpan excitedly, ready to clear out the dust bunnies which seemed to regularly invade the castle halls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what I like to hear! C’mon, let’s go form the Cleaning Brigade!” Lena said happily, grabbing a spray bottle and a clean rage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby made her way down the dusty stairs, sweeping away at every little speck of dust. It was hardly even a challenge at this point. According to Lena, Webby was a sweeping </span>
  <em>
    <span>pro.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She contentedly sweeped some more dust into her dustpan as Lena polished one of the many mirrors kept in the house for Webby’s mother to admire herself in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, Lena,” Webby piped up. “Do you think maybe we could use the portal door… more often?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena froze mid-polish. “What do you mean by more often, kiddo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought it was nice to have friends. I mean, I’m not sure how we’d get to an underwater research facility in the Carribean, but it’d be nice to see them again.” Webby explained, awkwardly swishing her broom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look, it’s hard to keep this type of stuff from Aunt Magica. I don’t think we could get away with it for too long without her noticing, and you know how she can get.” Lena pointed out, frowning. “I mean, of course I want you to have friends, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But nothing! Why does mother even care about that? Like, she’s not even around for anything other than the magic stuff anyway. Why should it matter if I’m learning it here or in a city?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena was silent, thinking. Her spray bottle dropped from her hand and rolled on the floor. Her grip had gone slack while she was preoccupied with her thoughts. Webby took it as a chance to press her argument further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, why do you even have to clean? Couldn’t magic take care of that?” Webby pointed out. “Most of the time, it feels like she just wants you to do all of this stuff just to spite you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Webby.” Lena cut her off with a sharp look. “I know that a lot of this doesn’t make sense to you right now. And that’s okay, because you’re young, and still figuring stuff out. But this is not something I want to hear about from you again. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But--” Webby started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Actually, you know what? I think you need to go back to your room to rest and recuperate. I’ll take care of the cleaning myself.” Lena said, with a tone of finality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby scowled, throwing her broom onto the floor with a clatter. “Fine! I’ll just go watch a ton of crappy TV melodrama so I can kind of feel like I have friends, and you can clean this up all alone like the edgy, emo loner kid you are!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stomped off before Lena could make a response, not that she thought Lena was likely to make one. Webby was already trying to fight off tears as she flopped into her bed, burying her face into the pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once the threat of crying had subsided, she pulled her laptop from underneath the covers where she’d left it. It flashed on, the screen still displaying the episode where Guy Perfect was engaged in an affair with Baron Redfoil. She closed the tab, switching to another one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not fair! Why did Lena get to grow up in Beagleburg and I had to be stuck in a stupid castle?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She thought angrily, typing the words into her internet search: ‘how to run away from home.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I won’t actually. Probably.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She rationalized. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just about like, just in case, right?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t actually any useful information anyway. It was all about things like having friends, or calling the police, or something like that, and those weren’t really things she could do. It wasn’t like she had any friends other than stupid Lena to ask for help, and she knew what her mother did to the police.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She closed the search, trying to think about what life would be like if she didn’t have Lena with her. She’d be even lonelier than before, not even having the one person who’d always had her back. Sure, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>her mother would try to put in a little more effort if Lena was gone, but Webby doubted it. Magica DeSpell wasn’t really someone cut out to be a mother, at the end of the day. No matter how much Webby wanted her to be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But couldn’t she have tried? Was it so difficult to try and be nice to your daughter?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby sniffed, turning over to look at the ceiling. The candles flickered, magically lit. With a sudden burst of anger, she grabbed one and snuffed it out, then threw it onto the floor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why is it so hard for us to just be normal? What’s wrong with having friends?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The candle simply floated back to its original position, unperturbed by Webby’s tantrum. Angrily, she tossed it again down on the floor, with the same result. Incensed by the candle’s lack of reaction, she shoved it down onto the floor and stomped on it savagely underfoot, breaking the wax. The wisps of magic that had been powering the light puffed away, leaving Webby alone in the darkness of her room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was maybe an hour she spent pitying herself before there was a knock at the door. Webby turned under the covers, ignoring the knock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiddo?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go away!” Webby called out. “I don’t want to talk to you!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silence, after that. Webby regretted it, turning over in her blankets again. She groaned</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She could just… talk with Lena in the morning. They always got along again in the morning. Right?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Lena would hate her just because she was angry about something important. Besides, all those punk rock bands Lena showed her were all about fighting back against ‘the man’ and authority. Why was it a bad thing if Webby just took their advice?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turned in her bed again, trying her best not to cry. She wasn’t the person in the wrong here. This was all stupid Lena’s fault. And mother’s, to an extent, Webby realized, but it wasn’t mother’s job to try and actually help Webby. It was Lena who was always supposed to be on her side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt hot, wet tears crawl down her cheeks despite her best efforts to not cry. Maybe Lena did hate her now? She’d get up in the morning and there wouldn’t be any breakfast at the table, just Lena sweeping through the rooms of the house without talking to her or letting her help.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby sniffled, angry she had been such a brat over something like this. But it still wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span> she had to be trapped inside! What else was she supposed to do, just shut up and not do anything to stand up for herself? Mother wouldn’t have done that. Mother would have taken care of everything herself, forcing everything to go her way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shiver ran through Webby’s spine at the thought. No, she didn’t want to be like that, even a little bit. Mother was powerful, and smart, and cool in her own way, sure. But she wasn’t the person Webby thought of when she thought of a role model.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything will be fine in the morning, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Webby told herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I just need to sleep tonight, say I’m sorry, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tucked herself into bed, trying to ignore the tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The morning crawled in slowly, orange light from the sun. Webby woke up groggily, rolling out of bed, still in the clothes she’d worn yesterday. A Black Thrasher t-shirt Lena had given her, and a black skirt. She pushed the door to her room open, looking down the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lena?” She called out hesitantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No response. “Lena, are you home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby walked over to Lena’s room at the end of the hall, knocking on the thin wooden door. “Lena? Are you in there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still no response. Webby pulled the door open, which gave a rusty creak. Lena’s room was completely out of order, clothes strewn everywhere and various bits of makeup and hair dye thrown about. Her laptop, an old piece of junk she’d stolen from a store years ago, was open, and Lena had fallen asleep on top of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lena?” Webby poked at her sister gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena startled awake. “Aunt Magica! I can expl-- Oh, hey Webby. What are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I woke up and you weren’t there.” Webby explained simply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry kiddo. I was up pretty late last night.” Lena yawned, closing her laptop. “Are you feeling better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby moved in for a hug, grabbing her sister close. “I’m sorry! I was being stupid last night!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, kiddo. No, you weren’t being stupid. You’re all alone in here, even if you’ve got the greatest big sister in the world.” Lena stroked Webby’s hair. “I mean, I’m not sure if we could get you to move somewhere permanently, but putting you in school… well, I think I could convince Aunt Magica to do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I won’t complain!” Webby rushed to reassure Lena, hoping it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course I’m sure! What, are you doubting your big sister? You think I’m biting off more than I can chew?” Lena teased her. “Now get off of me so we can make some breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby broke off from the hug, all smiles as she ran back out the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And change your clothes! You stink!” Lena called out after her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby rolled her eyes, but went back to her room to change anyway. She threw on yet another metal band t-shirt-- now that she thought about it, most of her t-shirts were metal band shirts that Lena had gotten for her. She threw on one with a sweet skull and dashed back outside to the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what kind of school do you think I’d go to? Like a super cool, ancient wizarding school? Or maybe a classic British boarding school?” Webby asked excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was thinking more just like a regular American school?” Lena answered hesitantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’m not old enough for high school?” Webby replied quizzically. “Why would I go to school in America?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, kiddo, we have got to get you off the TV stuff. You do know there are other types of school in America than high school, right?” Lena asked. “I used to go to one back in Beagleburg. I mean, I wasn’t officially on the roster or anything, but I snuck into the classes to watch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoah, cool. So I could be going to Beagleburg?” Webby beamed with excitement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe. Or alternatively, you could go to one of the schools down the mountain. How’s your Italian?” Lena asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Non male. E tu?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Webby asked rhetorically. “I mean, mother taught me Sumerian, Italian wasn’t too hard to pick up after that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. So we’ve got a couple of options. I’ll talk about it with Magica whenever she gets back today. Hopefully she’ll be in a good mood.” Lena decided, grimacing at the thought of confronting the woman. “Oh, your binding! Have you felt anything with the luck vampire yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby concentrated, trying to see if there was anything out of the ordinary she could feel. She didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>particularly lucky. “I don’t think so? Maybe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. Oh, let me try something!” Lena grabbed a coin from her pocket and tossed it to her. “Every time you flip heads, I’ll give you an extra piece of bacon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby caught it, looking at it in her palm where it lay heads up. She flipped it-- heads up again. And the second time, heads. Third time, heads. Fourth time, also heads.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, looks like I’m getting four extra pieces of bacon.” Lena said, grabbing a pack of it from the ice box.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby kept flipping, each time getting heads until she finally thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, this is just too much bacon, even for me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, where the coin landed on tails.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa. That’s amazing!” Webby exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, 8 heads in a row is pretty good luck. Still could be a fluke though. We’ll probably have to practice more.” Lena said passively, almost disappointed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you don’t get it! The moment I thought it was too much bacon, it flipped tails!” Webby squealed. “This luck demon is awesome!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Luck vampire.” Lena corrected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Demon, vampire, whatever! It’s still awesome.” Webby stuck her tongue out at Lena, who rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess it’s more of a passive effect. Still, you’re gonna be my little good luck charm, right? I should keep you around when we go to Vegas.” Lena smiled, pinching Webby’s cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Neither of us is old enough to go to Vegas, Lena.” Webby pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll just cast an illusion spell so we look older.” Lena rebutted. “Then we’ll get out with all the money we can carry, you and me against the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan!” Webby agreed, putting out plates for breakfast-- a pink one for her, a purple one for Lena.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena hummed as the bread sizzled on the pan, the melting combination of bread and cheese making Webby’s stomach growl. Outside the window, the sun beamed happily onto the volcanic rocks and fields where the castle was. Thick green shoots of grass, interspersed with the occasional purple bloom of wildflowers, were illuminated with warm light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a nice return to normalcy. She sat down at the table, kicking her feet in excitement.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Lena</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is sort of like an intermission chapter, tying up this 'arc' in the story. Next arc all the kids will meet each other properly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lena tucked Webby into bed, taking extra care that night. She took a deep breath, gave Webby a kiss on the cheek, and left the room. The sky was dark outside, only illuminated by the occasional shaft of moonlight through the clouds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She made her way down to the hearth, sitting in front of the great staircase to wait for her aunt. She stared at the dying embers of the fire-- she’d have to clean that up when it was just ashes. ‘Earn her keep’, as Aunt Magica liked to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She remembered the last time Magica had tried to stay in a city. Or, more accurately, the time Magica had attempted to conquer one for herself. They’d barely lasted a year, with the full forces of the military driving them out inch by agonizing inch. She could still hear the screams of soldiers being burned alive as Aunt Magica cackled, the smell of gunpowder and iron thick in the air as her Aunt had cursed the city in a last act of defiance before abandoning it to the local government.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby was too young at the time to remember any of it, something Lena was frequently grateful for. Even if she was being trained as Aunt Magica’s secret weapon, the full brunt of F.O.W.L. forces were terrifying to see in practice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something around Lena’s neck started to glow under her shirt, filling her warmth. She flipped open the locket she kept hidden there, and let herself make contact with the person trapped within. She could feel the strange mixture of anger, fear, and worry that emanated from Bentina Beakley’s soul.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So? Are you really going to try and get my granddaughter into school?” The disembodied voice asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll try my best.” Lena said simply. “I’m hoping Aunt Magica doesn’t make things too difficult.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That demented old witch! I swear, once I’m out of here I’m going to have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>word </span>
  </em>
  <span>with her. The way she treats you two! Absolutely unacceptable!” Beakley thundered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha, I’d like to see that.” Lena laughed. The old woman might last decently long if the two foes came to blows. She might even get a hit in before Aunt Magica… did what she always did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She only managed to get the jump on me because I was sleeping. If I’d been awake, I would’ve throttled her right there!” The old spy said with gusto.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire suddenly hissed green, and Lena frantically cut off the connection. The black smoke coalesced in the center, slowly defining into the shape of Magica DeSpell. Her eyes were cold, like she’d just murdered someone and wasn’t happy with the results.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aunt Magica! You’re home.” Lena yelped. “I mean, of course you’re home, you live here, I just didn’t expect you so soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’ve had a very busy day, consorting and plotting and all that. How is the girl? Recovering?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Aunt Magica. I tested her to see if the binding had any effect, and it looks like it does. Try not to set up anything as a coin toss with her, if you want to win.” Lena reported.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica nodded. “Experiment successful, then. Hmm… I was thinking about binding a war ghost to her next, but that might be a little bit too powerful. Maybe a poltergeist? Annoying if it gets out of hand, but it should be manageable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An excellent next step, Aunt Magica. Speaking of next steps-- Webby’s been saying that she wants to go to school.” Lena added to the conversation. “I think it would be good for her. You know, she needs to learn how to interact with crowds, find out who her enemies are, things like that. It’ll make her more formidable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That garnered a frown. “You think she’s not happy here? I mean, I already give her classes. All the work I put in! Is she ungrateful?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course not, Aunt Magica! She just doesn’t want to waste your time pestering you about subjects like social studies or math. You can’t be around here all the time, after all.” Lena tried to drive the conversation in a more positive direction.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“True. Still, I’d be called in for parents meetings, extracurriculars-- I mean can you imagine it, I, Magica DeSpell, sitting in at a PTA conference?” Magica laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought about that, actually. Let me show you the solution to that.” Lena closed her eyes and concentrated, feeling herself glow as an illusion surrounded her. When she opened her eyes again, she was the same height as her aunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See! This way, I can fill in as Webby’s mom! No intrusions on your own precious time.” Webby pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Magica pursed her lips. “You have always been more in touch with the girl than I. I’ll tell you what, if you think it’s really something she needs, and you can take care of it yourself, and if it doesn’t interfere with her mystical studies and my experiments on her, she’s free to enter whatever school you choose. Does that sound acceptable?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! That is an incredibly gracious decision, Aunt Magica.” Lena beamed. “Oh, Webby is going to be so excited! I wonder if she’ll have to wear a uniform.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, spare me the details, Lena darling. I’m going to take a bath, and when I get back, I fully expect the hearth to be swept clean. Ta ta!” The sorceress sauntered out of the room, leaving Lena to plan for everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena was positively over the moon. She danced her way over to the sweeper for the ashes, plans rushing through her head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Humming as she pushed the ashes into the dustpan, she tried to imagine what Webby’s reaction would be. Would she cry? No, even for Webby that was too much. She’d definitely be getting a big hug, though. Lena dumbed the ashes down the trash chute, then skipped over to Webby’s room, knocking on the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t get a response, so she swung it open, jumping on the bed and laughing like a madwoman. “Webby, Webby, guess what!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby’s eyes cracked open. “Wha?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess who’s going to schoo-ool!” She sang. Webby’s eyes widened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously? For real!” Webby exclaimed, now wide awake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I the best big sister in the world or what?” Lena asked rhetorically. “You’re going to Beagleburg, baby!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby let out an incoherent shriek of joy, and pulled Lena closer. Lena gave her a pat on the head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Living with Aunt Magica sucked, but damn if the kid didn’t manage to make it worth the trouble.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Dewey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>That awful summer had passed quickly for Dewey. He’d spent a lot of it working, usually under the table, while Meg tried to figure out a plan to get them out of Cape Town to a place more… stable. And with less bad memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sky Pirates had always been an independent gang, and Dewey had never appreciated before just how vulnerable that made them. How everything could just go up in smoke without any warning, and suddenly there’s no safety net below you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One interview with the Beagle gang later, Meg had secured two visas for entry into the United States and a ticket on board a one-way flight to Beagleburg. Dewey fidgeted in the seat, annoyed they were being forced to buckle in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s piloting this thing? I bet I could do a better job than him.” He huffed as Meg clicked the buckle over his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but if you try to fly this plane they’ll probably kick both of us off. Just try and fall asleep, okay? New chapter’s right around the corner!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey rolled his eyes, and then closed them, trying to block out the world around him and sleep. The world faded out, and the noises that had been haunting him replayed in his ears. The sound of tearing metal and booming explosions. Gasoline stinging in the air, then lighting up at a spark. Smoke, thick and black, curling into his nose, and the tang of iron on his tongue as he drove--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey’s eyes snapped back open. “I can’t sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg frowned, taking his hand in hers. “That’s okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo.</span>
  </em>
  <span> We’ll just watch the clouds fly by. That sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, craning his head to look out the window at the blue sky and clouds. It was odd to have this view again after months stuck on the ground. It was just different enough from the view he remembered to drive a certain feeling of disgust into him. How could the sky just… be the same? Why was the sun still shining?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stewed throughout the entire trip, glaring at the sky like it had stolen something from him and refused to give it back. The hostess asked him if he wanted something to drink, and he just glared at her silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s okay. Thank you.” Meg assured the woman, who rolled her eyes and continued down the aisle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dewey, what is wrong with you? What happened to being polite?” Meg asked sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess my ability to be polite blew up in the desert.” Dewey replied acidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg opened her mouth, then shut it, trying to think of how to reply to that. “Just… try to be civil until we land, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey huffed, leaning back into his seat. He felt constrained, trapped, like there was something wrapping its arms around him and trying to pull him down into the dark. He absolutely hated it. He hated the stupid banal plane and all the stupid passengers on it. He hated the stupid stewardesses who didn’t even look like they could take a punch. He hated how stupidly clean the entire place was, because nobody actually lived there. They just rode on it to get from place to place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, the stupid plane had finally made touchdown on a flight Launchpad could have made in like, 30 minutes. Meg handed him his suitcase from the compartment above their seats, and as he walked out of the plane he couldn’t help but sneer at the pilot who wished him a good day. Meg shot him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I was civil until we landed. Honor maintained.” Dewey pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg sighed. “You’re technically right, but that still wasn’t the right thing to do. You’re on thin ice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. Let’s just get to the stupid apartment so we can set up our stupid stuff and I can get ready for stupid school.” Dewey grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taxi ride, at least, wasn’t nearly as bad as the plane ride. Meg had gotten a small apartment in the industrial district, on the south side of the bay. It was a dingey old brick building, with vines crawling up the side and a blue roof that looked like it would cave in any second. Meg tried the elevator button, which let out a spark and a sputter, then emitted smoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s definitely off limits.” Meg said decisively. “Stairs it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The steps weren’t the most secure Dewey had ever seen, but despite their squeaking underfoot they managed to make it to the fifth floor without snapping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. Apartment number 512, on the right. Let’s go, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Meg hurried down to the right, sticking her key into the faux gold lock. With a click, the door swung open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey wasn’t terribly impressed by the apartment. There was a tiny living room, an even tinier kitchen, and two rooms in the entrance hallway he assumed were bedrooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which room do you want?” Meg asked. “You choose first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey opened the first door, which led into a small room with a window. “This one seems fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his suitcase into the middle of the small room, taking everything in. The walls were covered in a striped blue and white wallpaper. Dewey could see the ocean outside his window, along with the rolling green hills and mountains that characterized the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heck of a view, eh </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Meg asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not awful.” Dewey conceded, letting go of his suitcase. “When does the bed get here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Moving van should show up tomorrow with everything. For now, you and I get to share the most comfortable bit of the floor.” Meg smiled. “I even brought some blankets! So the hardwood shouldn’t mess with our backs too bad. You and I get to have a sleepover!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey tried to act excited, but he couldn’t get his muscles to smile right. “... Launchpad used to live here, right? Before he joined up with you guys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did.” Meg nodded. “He can still be your dad, you know. If you want him to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe later. Right now, I just-- I don’t want to deal with another parent being dead.” Dewey said. “He wasn’t my real dad anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Si, tu papi verdad</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a real son of a-- son of a something, if you were listening to the rumors.” Meg agreed. “... But that’s probably best saved for when you’re older. You should unpack! I’m gonna set up my own room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meg left the room, leaving Dewey alone. He slumped down onto the hard floor, feeling the tears prickling at his eyes. What had Launchpad even done here? Where had he lived? He could have even lived in this building, and Dewey would never know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Dewey had gotten off the floor, the sun was setting, the ocean glowing red with a thousand reflections. He took a Darkwing Duck action figure from his suitcase, one of the few things they could salvage from the wreckage, and placed it on the window sill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would’ve loved being here again.” He said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The action figure, predictably, said nothing. Dewey sniffled, then left the room. Meg was leaning against the kitchen sink, phone in hand. She waved at Dewey when she saw him, then held up a finger to indicate she’d be with him in a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mrs. Beagle. Of course. I’ll be sure to be right on time tomorrow.” Meg nodded along as the phone squawked with the voice from the other end. “Yes, I hope that everything goes smoothly as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was one last noise from the phone, and then it went silent. “That was the new boss. Man, she is a… a definite character!” Meg explained, exhaling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can just say she’s a bitch.” Dewey said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like you haven’t taught me every Spanish swear word there is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but we’re in America now and they’re a lot more touchy about that kind of thing. I’ve gotta set a good example, you know? Don’t want the CPS knocking around here.” Meg pointed out. “I don’t exactly have a lot of family friendly events back on my record, and our papers aren’t as legal as I’d like. Best to lay low.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever. Do you know what we’re doing for dinner?” Dewey asked, looking at the empty kitchen. “Cause it doesn’t look like we’re gonna cook anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got me there. I was thinking I’d just order a pizza, have an easy night. Sound good?” Meg asked, eyebrows raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds fine. Can we get a meat lovers?” Dewey asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo.</span>
  </em>
  <span> We’ve got a big day tomorrow! First day on the job.” Meg smiled, punching in a new number on the phone. “Why don’t you check out the rest of the building? I don’t think there’s too many… amenities, but there’s definitely not nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. See you in a bit.” Dewey waved a lazy hand goodbye, making his way out onto the fifth floor. A painting of a storm at sea hung on the wall, along with some flowers in a pot. “Boring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made his way further down the hall. Another door clicked open, some kid in a red hat calling back to his uncle about being safe. The kid turned around and made eye contact with him, then froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey’s eyes narrowed. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… you’re not going to stab me, are you?” The kid asked hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Are you going to give me a reason to?” Dewey snapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... No?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then probably not, no. Look, I get the whole scar thing makes people assume I’m just a stab happy guy, but I got it from an accident with a wrestling ring when I was 5. You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Dewey explained, not bothering to hide his total distaste with this neighbor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, yeah. That’s all I was thinking. Why else would I associate you with stabbing? Ha ha!” The red-hatted kid blabbered on. “I’m going to go back into my apartment for no real reason. See you around!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid spun around and immediately opened the door again. “Huey?” A beleaguered voice called from the doorway. “I thought you were leaving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door shut, leaving Dewey alone once again in the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking weirdo.” He spat, descending the stairs. They still creaked, whining underneath his boots. He stomped on them, trying to see if they would snap under the pressure. Luckily for him, the old boards held.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued down into the lobby, passing by a teenager focused on her laptop as she mader her way upstairs. The lobby was likewise empty, a dripping noise coming from a leak in the ceiling that clearly hadn’t been fixed, since the bucket underneath it was almost full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put a boot on it, pushing it around, keeping it just that close to tipping it over before letting it fall back into place, the water sloshing over the carpet. Dewey sighed, moving on out onto the dimly lit street outside. He could hear car horns honking in the distance. Upstairs, a couple was in the middle of a screaming match that reverberated out onto the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resisted the urge to scream out with them, to add his voice to the cacophony. Across the street was the ruin of a factory, clearly long out of use since it’s windows were all shattered. He stepped out onto the road, his boots clacking against the pavement, when a car suddenly raced down the street and screeched to a halt in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The driver rolled his window down. “Are you the order for Meg?” He asked with a gruff tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s my guardian. I’ll go get her.” Dewey answered, nonplussed. He hopped back up onto the sidewalk and reentered the complex, taking the stairs two at a time. He roughly pushed the door to the new apartment open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meg? Pizza’s here!” He called into the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coming, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mijo!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Meg responded, the clunk of her peg leg moving along the floor accompanying her hurried attempts to make it out the door. She clutched a few dollar bills in her hand marked with twenties.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey watched her descend the stairs and moved back into the apartment. He could see Meg had piled up blankets in the middle of the room, presumably where they’d be spending the night. He flopped down onto them, closing his eyes. The feeling reminded him of the wrestling ring they’d had back on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Iron Vulture</span>
  </em>
  <span>. All haphazardly thrown together, piece by piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dewey idly wondered if there was a wrestling ring in the city. That could be something at least kind of fun. Something closer to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Meg had gotten back, he was too far out into sleep to notice her. He barely registered her kiss on his cheek as he drifted off into the dark.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Louie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Glomgold’s condo was situated in a nice, private housing block tucked into the mountain side, at an unfortunate angle where it tended to catch most of the rain and clouds that passed through the city. Most of Glomgold’s time was spent in the communal garden, tending to his tomatoes and lime beans and whatever else it was old people planted in gardens.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie was currently buried under blankets in his favorite part of the condo’s main room, the luxurious couch, when his relaxation was interrupted by a familiar hand on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, squirt. You got time?” Louie heard his mom’s muffled voice through the blankets covering his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” He grunted sarcastically. “I’m busy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Haw haw. C’mon, kick off the blankets, this is serious.” Goldie replied drily, punctuating the end of her sentence by flinging the topmost blanket off of Louie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Urgh. Fine!” Louie sat up, letting his head poke through his collecting of comfy, warm blankets. “What’s up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Summer’s ending, and we’re in the States, so we have to get you into school.” Goldie answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Into what?” Louie asked incredulously. “No, c’mon, mom, that’s not how we work! You’re teaching me the school of hard knocks, remember? The school of life!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Goldie pinched the end of her beak. “Oh boy. Look, I don’t like it any more than you do, but you’ve also been stuck inside for the last three months, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>if I don’t put you in classes, we’re gonna have to deal with lawyers. And I don’t think that’s a situation either of us wants to be in, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’d be better than going to stupid school.” Louie grumbled, scowling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or we could have all of your social interactions be with just Glomgold. Does that sound better?” Goldie asked rhetorically, eying the old man making tea in the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Point taken. So… what do I have to do, exactly? Do I just like, start going?” Louie asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I’m pretty sure I have to fill out some forms for you. Hey, Glommie?” Goldie called out to the old man, who stepped out of the kitchen with a fresh, warm cup of tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How can I help ya?” He asked, before taking a sip from his mug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know what we need to do to get my kid in school?” Goldie asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, schools! I’m pretty sure I own a couple of those. Y’know, to be honest I don’t rightly know how the enrollment process works, I might have to get in touch with the old lawyers.” Glomgold replied, stroking at his wispy beard. “I am pretty sure Glomgold Preparatory is our charter series of schools. That’d be a good place for him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What kind of school is Glomgold Preparatory? Ugh, I can practically hear the teachers rapping kid’s knuckles just saying the word ‘preparatory’.” Louie stuck his tongue out in distaste.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it’s a charter school! A private school, you know. Got a free choice of curriculum! Honestly, I’m pretty sure it’s basically a set up to rubber stamp rich kids into the college of their choice, but let’s keep that between you and me, eh?” Glomgold winked conspiratorially. “One of plenty of scams back in the day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, cool, I can get behind a scam.” Louie nodded along.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now Louie, a student should take his schoolwork seriously, even if he doesn’t have to.” Glomgold rebutted. “I can even help you with some of the projects! Doesn’t that sound fun?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmm. I don’t know…” Louie demurred. “I mean, hard work sounds hard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They have classes where you can fly a plane.” Glomgold added.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And sold! So what kind of plane? Like a solid gold one?” Louie asked immediately, shrugging off the rest of his blankets to bounce over to Glomgold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, flying is a privilege, not a right. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>you keep up with your grades, you can try to take out the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chute d’Or.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Glomgold chastised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom!” Louie immediately turned his attention to Goldie, eyes pleading.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha, please. Those doe-eyes wore off on me when you turned six, squirt. It’s Glomgold’s school, then it’s Glomgold’s rules.” Goldie smirked. “Although if you want to sneak onto a plane later this month, I might have something for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goldie!” Glomgold chastised, but he didn’t take it further than that after Goldie raised her eyebrow at him. Trying to avoid her glare, he switched the subject quickly. “Anyway, it’ll be good for you to meet kids your own age, y’know. Socialization and all that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft, please. I know how to handle people.” Louie rolled his eyes and slumped back down onto the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know how to handle people, aye. But do you know how to have a real relationship with someone? One that doesn’t revolve around just getting what you want?” Glomgold asked, eyes sharp and piercing. “Because let me tell you, that road leads down to a dark and lonely path you won’t even see you’re walking until it’s too late.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... That sounds like a you thing.” Louie pointed out. “I’ll be fine. How hard can it be to get some suckers to hang out with? It’s a bunch of easy marks gathered into one convenient classroom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah! We should try and get a list of all the rich kids going there so we can take their stuff later. Good thinking, squirt!” Goldie pulled a notebook from her purse. “Who’s that guy who just came into his inheritance recently? The Drake kid? Does he go to your school?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glomgold rolled his eyes. “I don’t run the place, I don’t exactly have a list of everybody who goes there on me at the moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so we’ll file that away for later and get it from your lawyers or something.” Goldie nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s more to school friendships than just making connections to take money from them later on!” Glomgold thundered. “I happen to know that there are plenty of brilliant students in that school supported by our scholarship program who come from all kinds of backgrounds! You need to stop just thinking of money and start thinking about potential power in the future.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think about what?” Louie asked sarcastically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Investments, lad, investments! How do you think a company works? You find people when they’re small and get in on the ground floor before they’re big.” Glomgold huffed, crossing his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh really? And what happened to all the emotional connection stuff?” Louie pointed out, an eyebrow raised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... That is also an aspect of healthy living which is important for child development.” Glomgold said as if by rote memory. “C’mon, old habits die hard. You can take the businessman out of the business, but you can’t take the business out of the businessman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Well, it sounds like the two of you are set on putting me into some rich kid whatever school so go ahead I guess. At least it’ll give me a few hours of the day to get away from the two of you.” Louie sat back down on the couch and yawned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, about that.” Glomgold rubbed the back of his neck. “Y’see, the school day is around eight hours a day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie’s eyes snapped open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s only assuming you don’t do extracurriculars, which the teachers will probably try to put you into.” Glomgold added, shoulders tensing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would anyone spend nine hours at a school? Why would anyone spend an extra hour there </span>
  <em>
    <span>willingly</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Louie cried out in horror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Glomgold, I think I’ll leave this one up to you. Your school, your rules, so on. Have fun!” Goldie made a rapid retreat from the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Louie, a little bit of hard work isn’t always a bad thing. I used to spend upwards of 70 hours a week working on my company, or just trying to-- well, bad example to use the rivalry, but you get my point.” Glomgold started. “And I don’t think it’s fair of you to knock the whole school thing before you’ve tried it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. I mean, do you actually have to go there every day? Like every day-every day?” Louie asked suspiciously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you get Saturdays and Sundays off, so no.” Glomgold reassured him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go for five days a week? And I’m not even getting paid? Ok, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>a scam!” Louie shouted. “I mean, what’s even the point?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Learning is it’s own reward, Louie. Besides, you’ll get to meet interesting new people, find new interests-- it’s not a total waste of time.” Glomgold patted Louie on the shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie rolled his eyes. “You know what, you guys can enroll me in whatever you want. Since evidently it’s ‘tell Louie what to do day,’ I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Glomgold could stutter out yet another sanctimonious defense of learning and friendship, Louie made his way to the door and ran outside, slamming it shut behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The view outside turned out towards the ocean and sky, the line where they touched sketched out in the distance. A few scant clouds hovered on the horizon, their white outlines interrupting the vast stretch of blue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, but he knew he didn’t want to be at home and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t want to be at a school. He entered the stairway and went down to the ground level, popping out onto the streets of the renamed city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t explored much of it, mostly to spite Glomgold. Every time Louie had gone out and talked about what he’d done, there was always a memory of something </span>
  <em>
    <span>Scrooge </span>
  </em>
  <span>had done to go along with it. Go to the marina? Scrooge used to be a whaler back in the day. Checked out the park? Scrooge actually planted the first tree there back in the day. And that wasn’t even saying anything about the various banks and skyscrapers that dotted the city.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That stupid old man and his stupid mom, both trying to get whatever they wanted out of him. Why couldn’t they just get that he didn’t want to go to some school? It wasn’t like Louie didn’t know how to take care of himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unthinking, Louie didn’t even realize where his feet were taking him as he dashed down the roads. The buildings slowly got more and more unkempt, a few more windows broken and the sound of the sea getting louder as awkward industrial shapes jutted out into the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey boy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A harsh, weaselly voice stopped Louie right in his tracks. He could make out the person who called out in the corner of his vision. Scrawny, gangly, a beagle who looked like he’d been born to gawk at things with a nasty cut on his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You lost, boy?” The old man’s eyes were locked on him, Louie could feel it. Louie turned to meet the stare.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know exactly where I’m going, thank you.” He spat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? Cause you don’t look like you’re from around here.” The man replied, amused. “With them pricey clothes and all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie looked down at his button up shirt, confused. “Really? I stole this from somebody else, so I wouldn’t know how much it cost.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That got a bark of laughter. “Well shit, maybe you do know where you’re going then! But seeing as how I haven’t seen ya around here, I figure you ought to be warned that in another block you’ll be in Beagle Boy territory, and it ain’t the nicest place to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie gulped. “Oh, really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man nodded. “Whatever business you’re up to, a kid like you would probably want to be back home by sundown, if you catch my meaning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spat out some disgusting black gunk as if to demonstrate his point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie nodded. “Just out of curiosity, if I didn’t catch your meaning, what would that be exactly I’m avoiding?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old dog rolled his eyes. “Some poor kid went poking around where she didn’t belong lately, nearly had her throat cut down the middle. Bad thing to happen if you like to keep your blood where it belongs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Okay, so that’s creepy, you’re creepy, and I will never come back here again. Got it.” Louie strolled back the way he came, awkwardly stepping over the pile of black mush lying on the sidewalk. “Thanks for the warning, guy, hope I never see you again. Bye!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he’d gotten a good distance back, Louie let himself shudder. That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>way </span>
  </em>
  <span>too close for comfort. What kind of city even was this? At least the guy had been the good kind of creep, instead of the… creep kind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fetid smell of the docks started to fade away, leaving just the summer breeze and sea salt from the ocean. Where was he now? Nothing here looked familiar, all of the buildings were those old style Victorian houses. Trees lined the streets, their leaves tinged with orange as the first hint of fall to come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it wasn’t gang territory at least. Louie tried to casually look for where his building would be jutting against the skyline, but the terrain didn’t really favor that-- he was at the bottom of a hill, cutting off his vision. In fact, the hill practically dominated his vision. Having taken the easiest route out, he’d basically ran all the way downhill.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you lost?” Louie flinched, although the voice was definitely different this time. Younger, and calmer, and not sounding like she was about to throw him into a ditch after spitting a buckets worth of tobacco onto the street.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’know, you’re not the first person to ask me that today. Does everybody in this town just love giving directions?” Louie turned the question back on the stranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl let a smile flash on her face for a second, then immediately turned back into an expression of stoicism. “There’s a patch for the Woodchucks I’m trying to get that requires me to assist someone with directions. You didn’t say no.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who are the Woodchucks? Is that another gang around here?” Louie asked, suddenly focusing harder on her. The girl had messy black hair pinned up behind her head, and a purple complexion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“To the best of my knowledge, the Junior Woodchucks aren’t supposed to participate in criminal activities, so I don’t believe so. Did you run into a gang today?” She asked. “If you go a little bit further south, that’s Beagle Boy territory.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well yeah, I know that </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Louie rolled his eyes. “So, how much help are you supposed to give to the lost person, exactly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As much help as they need to get to their location. So you are lost?” The girl’s level gaze bore into him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie nodded. “Yeah, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>super </span>
  </em>
  <span>lost. Plus, my legs are just </span>
  <em>
    <span>soooo </span>
  </em>
  <span>tired, and I’m pretty sure my place is all the way uphill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let his legs give out onto the pavement. “You know, I’m not sure I could get there myself. Could you help me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl glared at him, calculating. After a few seconds silence, she sighed in muted exasperation. “You are very lucky that I need that patch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Louie said in his most innocent tone, which managed to sound like a used car salesman replying to a complaint.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She walked over and, without too much thought, hefted him up onto her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah! Are you sure you’re not a gang member? Cause you definitely lift like one.” Louie’s eyes widened at the sudden application of force.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Flattery will get you nowhere. The name’s Violet, by the way. Not that I think you particularly cared.” Violet griped at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Louie. You know, Violet, I think that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Louie said smugly, leaning onto his new personal assistant’s head.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Huey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Huey was panicking in the bathroom. This wasn’t necessarily new for him, since the city of Beagleburg regularly provided plenty of things to panic about. The streets were filled with weird noises, the people (and there were </span>
  <em>
    <span>so many people)</span>
  </em>
  <span> would shove and walk by or sometimes try to pick on him. On the good days, Fethry would be walking with him and it didn’t go anywhere. On the bad days…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Memories of blood dripping on the table. A vision of his brother in blue, a knife in hand, stalking towards him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the bad days he got familiar with the wrong side of a ditch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huey? Bud?” Fethry was still calling out as Huey leaned against the creaky wooden door, making sure it was firmly shut out against the outside world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Uncle Fethry?” Huey replied, voice tinged with an embarrassing amount of anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you feeling alright?” Fethry asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-- No, I’m not feeling alright!” Huey replied honestly, letting his back slide down against the door. “The kid who just moved in, it was-- it was him! The guy who stabbed Dr. Gearloose!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was the noise of a plate dropping, whatever cleaning Fethry had been doing abruptly stopped. Huey could hear Fethry’s frantic footsteps creaking along the wooden floor, making their way towards him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huey, are you absolutely sure it was him?” Fethry’s eyes were locked on him, drenched in concern and worry. “Without a shadow of a doubt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes! He had the scar and he was wearing blue and everything!” Huey nodded quickly. “I mean, his image is literally burned into my head!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Okay. I’ll talk to the neighbors about it, then.” Fethry said, getting down on his knees to put a comforting hand on Huey’s shoulder. “And once we get it all sorted out, I’ll see what I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>neighbors</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Huey asked incredulously. “What about the police? What about fucking Interpol!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, language.” Fethry reprimanded. “And for the police… Huey, the Beagleburg police don’t have jurisdiction in South Africa for crimes committed there. And I mean, we were basically trying to kidnap him. A trial wouldn’t end great for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what, we’re just going to let him get away with it?” Huey demanded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If it’s really him and he’s trying to move past everything, then I think that’s good for him. I don’t want to punish a kid for an action he committed under severe stress.” Fethry explained calmly. “I know that can be hard to stomach, but he’s just a kid. Like you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“If </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s really him.” Huey spat back. “Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Crap, I’m sorry Huey-- I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that you’ve also been under a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of stress lately, and you have some more stuff coming up with school, so-- so it’d be understandable if you mistook somebody for one of your brothers.” Fethry explained, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’d be a lot better if your brother just wasn’t here with us. We don’t need a visit from Boyd going off the deep end.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you’re just not going to take me seriously?” Huey pressed on. “And we’re not going to do anything about this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re getting information, Huey. That’s never nothing.” Fethry pointed out. “I mean, you’ve seen the consequences of rushing into things before. C’mon, let’s take some deep breaths and calm down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fethry slowly inhaled, and Huey reluctantly followed his lead. Each breath was a little longer than the last, and the primal instincts that had taken over slowly drained out of his body with each second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a minute had passed, Fethry stopped and glanced at him. “Are you feeling better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Yeah.” Huey admitted, almost disappointed that he was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great! That’s really good progress.” Fethry beamed. “I know that living in the city has been pretty scary. But we can still make the best of it, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded glumly. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>that it had been his brother. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But then again, wouldn’t all crazy people say they were sure of something? </span>
  </em>
  <span>An insidious voice whispered in the back of his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, did you still want to head out to the marina?” Fethry asked, cutting through Huey’s thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’d be nice.” Huey replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, then I’ll come with you.” Fethry said assuringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure? I don’t want you to stop doing something important just because I want to go somewhere, I’ll be fine on my own.” Huey backtracked, trying to remember what Fethry had been up to before he’d left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I want to go with you. I can clean the dishes later, y’know?” Fethry pointed out. “It’s not every day I get to spend time with my favorite nephew.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fethry stretched his legs and went up to his full height, pulling himself off of the floor. “I mean, who would want to be trapped inside alone all day, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded, getting up from off of the floor. “Thanks, Uncle Fethry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They made their way down to the dilapidated lobby which the landlord had been refusing to fix for the last three months, then out past the abandoned steel factory and down to the docks. A cold breeze flew in from the ocean, carrying with it the first tinge of fall and the inevitability of the seasons change. People shuffled past as they reached the boardwalk, an unwieldy collection of wooden boards and splinters propping up a variety of tourist traps and scams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peeling paint and the couple of abandoned, rusty rides implied that it used to be a humming place, but with the current management everything had obviously gone downhill. Huey tried to focus on keeping his steps on the least rotted boards, not wanting to fall through them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the far side of the boardwalk was a chrome building that was obviously built in the 70’s given it’s design. It’s wavy white walls were a stark contrast to the buildings around it, and unlike the rest of the boardwalk it seemed like it was actually maintained to some extent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was probably Huey’s favorite part of the city, a shining beacon of calm and order in the middle of a chaotic and turbulent area. Plus, the interns were always super nice!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fethry nodded at the gatekeeper, who let them in. Huey could hear a protest about them not having to pay for tickets behind him, but ignored it in favor of taking in the enormous body of water that dominated the main room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was like a pillar of ocean in the middle of grey carpeting. Seaweed and coral lined the bottom of the immense tank while all sorts of fish and other sea creatures lazily drifted through, content to allow the outsiders observe. The people moving through the halls kept their voices down to a hushed murmur, letting the gentle hum of generators and sound of falling water be the main source of noise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Fethry! What brings you here? You don’t work again until Monday.” One of the interns interrupted the silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Fenton! Nice to see you. Me and my nephew were just taking some time to check out the fish. I’m surprised you guys haven’t met already.” Fethry answered, giving a gentle shove to Huey towards the newcomer. “Huey, say hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.” Huey intonated shily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there! I’m Fenton, I work with your uncle!” Fenton held out his hand, which Huey shook lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So do you work in marine biology then?” Huey asked politely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton laughed. “Nah, I work in engineering. Gadgets, stuff like that. I’m just interning here since it’s something actually available where they </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>require you to have like 50 references already on your resume.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Huey’s also pretty interested in engineering. Maybe you could talk to him about what it’s like in the business and going through college?” Fethry suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uncle Fethry, we don’t have to bother him.” Huey groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s not a problem! To be honest, I’ve basically just been taking care of the vents all day, and I’m pretty bored. And I’ve always got time to talk to a young gadgeteer!” Fenton was quick to reassure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Hold on, let me get my journal!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached for the familiar weight under his hat and pulled it out as Fethry went to casually inspect one of the other tanks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flipping to the earmarked page that held his list of standard career questions, Huey went straight to his number one question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you think is most important for a future engineer to know?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton thought about that for a second. “I think… probably the most important thing to know is you might not always have all the answers. You can’t just control everything with technology, you know? It’s nice to think that we can solve everything with just the right tool, but we’re really stuck on the same ride as everybody else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey eagerly wrote it down. “Okay, question number two-- what skills do you think it’s most important for a future engineer to have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, math is definitely the big one there, but you’re probably not interested in engineering if you don’t already know math, so… Chemistry is probably a good one to brush up on!” Fenton nodded at his own answer. “I know that chemistry kicked my a-- my butt while I was in college, so get good at it now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey scribbled down </span>
  <em>
    <span>learn chemistry </span>
  </em>
  <span>next to the question in the advice column.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are there any questions you have that aren’t written down?” Fenton asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, according to the guidebooks I have on career development these are the top ten questions to ask people when thinking about your career, so… no?” Huey asked suspiciously. “What other questions would I need to ask?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton chuckled. “You know, if you email me those ten questions, I can answer them a lot more thoroughly, and you can ask me some different questions now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey clutched the edges of his notebook tighter. “Well, now I just don’t know what to ask.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s okay! How about I ask you a couple of questions and see if that gets the ball rolling?” Fenton suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess? But you have to make sure you’ll answer these later!” Huey added quickly to the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cross my heart. So, Huey, why do you want to be an engineer?” Fenton asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey blinked. “Well, why wouldn’t I want to be an engineer? I spent most of my childhood looking at schematics, learning about synapses, stuff like that. I guess it’s just always been what I’m going to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton let out a whistle. “So you’re pretty set on it, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep! I’ve got it all basically laid out.” Huey nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Never thought about anything else at all?” Fenton continued on the same line of questioning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going somewhere with this, aren’t you?” Huey realized. “What are you trying to say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just saying that if you consider other paths, you might find something you like better than engineering. You know, I originally wanted to be an animator when I was ten. If I hadn’t let myself experiment with other jobs, I never would have gone into engineering.” Fenton answered. “Let yourself explore something else, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ve been doing enough exploring this summer.” Huey huffed. “I don’t need to add a third existential crisis into my life right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Third? Hoo boy, that sounds rough.” Fenton gulped. “Well just forget that advice then. You can save it for when you’re a little bit older. Here, let me write down my email so you can send me the rest of those questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey held out his journal for Fenton to write his email down. Fenton scribbled something out with a pen, then looked at Huey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, if you want to talk to me about anything else or try to make this city a little less scary, you can reach out for that too.” Fenton said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That could be nice.” Huey replied, not giving a definite commitment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fenton opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the sudden piercing hiss of air coming from the ceiling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh boy, that’ll be the vents. Duty calls! I hope you get through your existential crises okay!” Fenton ran off in a hurry, pulling a wrench from his back pocket and disappearing into the crowd.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey stuffed his journal back under his hat, appreciating the return of the comfortable weight on his head. He turned around to see Fethry gazing into one of the tanks, looking at a fish that looked like a puddle of fat and gristle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey walked over carefully, weaving between guests and then falling in place next to his uncle. “He’s pretty ugly, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Huey! Didn’t see you there. How did your conversation with Fenton go? He can be a bit scatterbrained, but otherwise he’s a good egg.” Fethry asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. He gave me his email.” Huey answered calmly. “So, what is that thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a blobfish. Honestly, I hate that we even have the thing on display. They’re not supposed to be this far out of the ocean depths. Under the ocean, at the deep sea pressure they usually live in, these fish can be almost beautiful.” Fethry explained, his eyes furrowed as he looked at the ugly little thing flopping around in the water. “But if you take it outside of its environment, it can’t adapt, so it just flounders around awkwardly. You know, people call it the ugliest fish in the world, but that’s only because they can’t meet it on it’s level!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, changing environments is pretty tough.” Huey agreed. “Do they ever adjust to the lack of pressure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not usually-- it can do a lot of tissue damage if they’re ripped out of the water too quickly. Poor guy probably wouldn’t survive if he was put back in the ocean.” Fethry said sadly. “So now he’s stuck out here, put on display for kids to point at him and call him ugly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeez, now I feel bad about calling it ugly earlier.” Huey remarked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know any better. But now you do, right? It’s never nice to just call somebody ugly, even if they look bad.” Fethry smiled, turning to look at Huey instead of the blubbery fish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep! No more judgement from me!” Huey nodded. Fethry patted him on the head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, can you tell me more about your conversation with Fenton other than that it was fine?” Fethry asked slily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really, it was fine. I started asking him the questions I had in my notebook and then he told me that I should come up with some more original ones. And then he started asking me questions about why I wanted to be an engineer, but he stopped after I told him I was having enough stuff going on in my life already without questioning why I want to be an engineer!” Huey complained. “And then he gave me his email so I could send him the usual questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh boy. Sounds like I’m going to have to talk with him later.” Fethry remarked, concern edging into his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s whatever. At least I’ll still get the questions answered at some point.” Huey pointed out, leaning into the handrails that kept visitors away from the glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know you’ll be a great engineer one day, right buddy? Even better than Gearloose.” Fethry asked reassuringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what if I have a breakdown and suddenly decide engineering sucks?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, whatever else you go into I’m sure you’ll be great at too.” Fethry replied simply. “The world is full of all types of things to do where you can’t even imagine how you’d get there. I mean, I didn’t start as a marine biologist! I was a janitor who lucked into working on an underwater science facility!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Huey said flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fethry put an arm around Huey’s shoulder. “Hey, no matter what happens, we’ll get through it together. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Huey smiled reluctantly. He watched the blobfish float upwards into the water, chasing various pieces of drifting food in the water. Even though it wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place, it was still making the best of its situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey pulled himself closer to Fethry, and they spent the rest of the day watching the fish swim by.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Webby</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lena was being even more pushy than usual. The uniform for school had probably been dusted, folded, unfolded, redusted, and then washed and ironed at least three times in a row, and Lena was </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>lecturing her about being careful on her way to school.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby looked down at the button-up white shirt with the little ‘G’ logo and the plaid skirt. Definitely not what she would usually wear, but the school said it was mandatory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby rolled her eyes. “I’ve got it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lena</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t get the uniform messy and make a good impression on the other kids at school. It’s not that hard to do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena frowned. “I just want to make sure you’re being safe. Beagleburg isn’t what it used to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax! I’m the daughter of the most powerful sorceress in the entire world, what’s some two-bit criminal even going to do to me?” Webby pointed out. “Oh my gosh, this is going to be so exciting! I could like, throw a shadow bolt at them and become a crime fighter and be a superhero!”</span>
</p>
<p><span>Lena grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t think we do superheroes</span> <span>in this family, kiddo. We’re more the dark wizard types.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfft, that just means I can be the first.” Webby pointed out. “And you can be my sidekick! Or like, my butler? That’s a thing superheroes have, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t think I’ll be doing either of those things.” Lena replied sardonically. “I’ve got enough going on making sure you can stay in school.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think I’ll make a best friend on my first day of school? I’ve never had a best friend before, so I’m not sure how to know I have one.” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never had one either, so you probably don’t want to ask me.” Lena deftly turned down the question. “Just make sure your new bestie isn’t somebody totally weird, alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll try my best!” Webby reassured Lena, bouncing up and down in her sneakers. Lena took the moment to cast her illusion spell, suddenly gaining in height and having her hair lengthen down her shoulders. She looked like the perfect image of a suburban mom with an unruly, rebellious daughter in a goth phase.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena fiddled with the doorknob to the portal door, whispering into it some ancient language that Webby couldn’t make out. In response, the door began to warp itself, becoming much skinnier as its ancient oaken boards were replaced with a modern white facade. Lena flipped her newly lengthened hair back, and then opened the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door had spit them out onto an abandoned old porch, the floorboards painted a spotty blue and splintering. Lena made a face at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby just took in the view of the street. It was practically the definition of classic Americana. Any moment now, she felt like she’d see Guy Heartthrob and his band of loyal, mystery solving friends walk around the corner. She felt Lena give her a push from the back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We do need to actually get to school.” Lena pointed out, making her way down the rickety steps of the house they’d stepped out from.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby practically threw herself down the stairs with excitement. “This is amazing! I’m actually going to school!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, remember what I said about discretion? Repeat the narrative again.” Lena chastised her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My name is Webbigail Cane, and I was homeschooled until very recently. I grew up in southern Europe, which is why I know French and Italian. I definitely don’t know any crazy languages like Sumerian or Babylonian, and anything I say about magic is a result of my current rebellious goth phase.” Webby recited happily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, good.” Lena said, her voice full of relief. “Remember, school is… Well, I don’t know anything about school, I’ve never been to one. It’s probably not that bad? Just be yourself and you’ll probably make friends. You’re hard to dislike.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am!” Webby nodded as they rounded the corner to see the charter school imposing in the distance. “Oh, we’re almost there! I can make it by myself, you should go home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lena frowned. “Are you sure, kiddo? I’d really prefer to make sure you get all the way there personally. Auntie M. will get pretty mad if I lose track of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’ll look super lame if my Mom is walking me to school!” Webby complained. “That’s what all the nerds and dweebs show up with! Their parents driving them to school and packing them their inhalers!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Webby, real life really isn’t like that.” Lena said dismissively, looking up at the silhouette of Glomgold Preparatory in the distance. “... But I’m not going to force myself with you. If you really want to walk there on your own, I’ll head back home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby buried herself into Lena’s legs with a fierce hug. “Thank you! I promise I won’t go missing!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, Webby broke herself off and bounded down to the school building. The morning air was brisk, a cool 60 degrees that made her shiver under the school uniform. A breeze carried the first hint of autumn’s return, the leaves of the trees just starting to tinge red under all the green.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby rubbed the tattoo on her wrist. “If you’re really going to make me lucky, please help me find a cool friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kept walking down the street, a little bit slower now. It suddenly seemed very lonely, to be walking to school without anybody else. She resisted turning around to look for Lena, forcing herself to trudge onwards.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The school gates were pretty intimidating, guarded by an miserly old crow who had looked at her uniform a good thirty seconds before letting her pass by. The school hallways were even worse, crowded with strangers and noise in sterile white hallways. What was her first class again? Homeroom? She looked at the schedule Lena had printed out for her, looking for the room number-- Room 387. So that would be on floor 3, right? Webby made her way to the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As time passed, the hallways became less flooded with students. People had made their way to classrooms, filing away into their own, insulated environments. Webby heard a bell ring, and tried to ignore it in favor of finding her classroom. 385, 386, 387!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pushed the door open to find the teacher already in the middle of lecturing. The man, a wrinkled old bulldog, looked at her dourly. “I assume you must be Webbigail Cane?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re late.” His gruff voice was unreadable. The man could have been apoplectic, bored, annoyed, or ashamed, and Webby would have no way of knowing. “Go and take a seat, I think there’s still one next to the boy in the red cap.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lumbered over, scooching awkwardly between seats. Finally, she made her way to the empty one, on the edge of the room. The kid with the red hat looked pretty familiar, but she couldn’t place where she might have seen him before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teacher continued his lecture, talking about the various applications of mathematics. All the kids around her were writing notes down as the teacher sketched out a basic formula, but the kid in the red hat didn’t write anything down. Should she be writing something down? She wasn’t entirely sure how this was supposed to work. Usually for classes Mother or Lena would walk her through the steps until she could do it by herself, but this seemed like a more… self-motivated approach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked back at the red hat, and suddenly it clicked. “You’re Huey!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her exclamation cut through the room, leading everybody else in the class to turn their stares towards her. The teacher cleared his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ms. Cane, I understand that summer just ended, but do try to have some decorum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby felt the red creeping up on her face. “Yes sir. Sorry, sir.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bulldog nodded, and returned to his lecture. Huey looked absolutely mortified for her, giving her an apologetic wave before returning to looking at the board intently. The class continued for the next 40 minutes, Webby hurriedly trying to write everything the teacher said down. The bell rang again, and the bulldog snapped his speech shut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That will be all for today. Your homework is the even questions on pages 31 and 32. Make sure to have all of your work shown. Have a nice day.” And with that, the bulldog collapsed onto his chair, waiting for the students to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby walked up to Huey. “Wow. Math class, am I right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey nodded, clearly frustrated. “This is like, five years behind what I already know! I can’t believe they’re babying us like this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you understood all of that?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could do the Pythagorean theorem in my sleep. Oh, how was your vacation? I thought you lived in Italy?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was… fine. We moved recently since my Mom got a new job in Beagleburg. This is the first year I haven’t been homeschooled!” She added excitedly at the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh hey, same here!” Huey said, smiling. “If all the classes are that far behind, I’m not sure it’ll be worth it, though. What’s your next class?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve got… Latin in 270. Oh, that should be easy!” Webby remarked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know Latin?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… Well, I don’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>Latin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, obviously, but I know French and Italian, and those are both Latin-based languages, right?” Webby lied easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, I guess it would be. Hey, it looks like we’ve got the same class again-- I’ve got 270 for Latin too.” Huey noted, looking at his own schedule in his notebook. “Let’s see, I’ve got a map to show where that is…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would we need a map? We can just count the numbers.” Webby pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like what you did in order to show up late this morning?” Huey pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Point taken. So, where are we going for Latin?” Webby asked, trying not to remember her awkward outburst from that morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Down this flight of stairs, take a left, and it should be on the right side of the hallway.” Huey sketched out the route with his finger, tapping on the various turns they needed to follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.” Webby nodded, following Huey down the stairs. The hallways echoed with the noises of people, and she could see Huey was fidgeting with the edges of the map. His head seemed to be flinching in response to every little noise that rang in the halls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“... Are you okay?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine! I just need to follow the plan.” Huey snarled back at her. Webby paused, hurt by the outburst. Around them, the flow of people slowed to register the outburst, then continued apace as students ran off to classes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was just checking in. You don’t have to yell at me.” Webby said stubbornly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey took a deep breath. For a moment he was completely still, like he’d been frozen in place, as he continued to breath. “You’re right. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… are you okay?” Webby reiterated, asking her question again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really!” Huey replied, laughing a little. “There’s too many people and too much noise and it’s kind of difficult to deal with right now. But I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “I would hug you, but something tells me that’d be a little bit counterproductive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Huey said, smiling wanly. “Now come on, we’re almost there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Latin class went a lot better than math, although Webby found herself pretty bored starting at the basic level. She could see Huey writing everything down fervently, and when she peaked at his notes it was obvious he was writing down ideas for flashcards. Wow, that kid was a real nerd, huh. Kind of like Brainy Joe on TV, except with a much larger temper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The class slowed to a halt as the teacher explained the basic pronouns of Latin, and how to introduce oneself. Webby struggled to keep her eyes open. Where math had been super difficult to understand anything that was going on, here it felt like she’d wandered into a kindergarten class. Was this how Huey had felt in math? No wonder he’d been so dismissive of everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The teacher split them into groups in order to practice the tidbits of Latin they were spoonfed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she turned around to face Huey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Salve. Huey nomen meum. Quod nomen tibi est?” He read out haltingly from his notes, not keeping anything resembling the accent or tone in mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Im 'dicitur Webby. Nonne scis hoc genere de infantibus?” She asked, her voice a scattergun Italian accent with the words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Huey scrunched his eyes together in confusion. “I don’t think those words were on the chalkboard.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right-- Webby wasn’t supposed to actually know Latin. “I peppered a little bit of Italian in there. I figured they’re pretty similar, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a baldfaced lie, of course. Latin and Italian were as different as English and Norse, but she didn’t need to give Huey any ideas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Right. Listen, if we could just follow with the words put up by the teacher, it’d be a lot easier.” Huey said flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But that’s not how a language works! You can’t just regurgitate a bunch of phrases from rote memory, you need to actually construct thoughts and ideas with it!” Webby pointed out. “Have you ever heard of the Chinese room argument?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the one where someone’s locked in a room with all the Chinese words, right?” Huey asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Just memorizing it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>understand </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Otherwise you’re just doing what a teacher said to do and you don’t make any sense at all! Tourists would crowd into town every summer and say complete nonsense as they read it with a terrible accent from their guidebooks, and it was always awful!” Webby ranted, remembering one particularly obtuse man who’d told her he had eels in his hovercraft. “I mean, if people </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to not actually engage with the people around them, sure, go ahead and memorize! But if you want to speak, and communicate, and make an effort? You have to actually connect with the words.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You seem pretty passionate about this.” Huey noted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby nodded. “Dealing with angry, stupid tourists is the worst. I didn’t even start speaking English until I was like, 5. Usually my mother would run them off, though. Man, they really didn’t know what they were getting into there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell you what, if you help me with Latin, I’ll gladly help you with math.” Huey proposed. “That way, we both get what we want! Teaching is a lot more fun than trying to learn something you already know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Caveat emptor and all that, but it sounds like we’ve got a deal.” Webby said, extending her hand out for Huey to shake. His grip was soft, like he was afraid to touch her, but he still gave her a decent shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, does this mean we’re best friends now?” Webby asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Huey asked, confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve never had one before, so I’m not entirely sure on how the whole thing works. Or maybe Boyd is your best friend? Oh my gosh, Boyd! Is his dad still in the hospital?” Webby suddenly remembered the circumstances she’d met Huey under.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boyd’s dad is alright. He was in shaky condition for a while, but now he’s back and at it. He has to use a cane now, though.” Huey said, sullen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, that’s awful. I mean, at least he’s not dead, but still.” Webby sympathized.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’d rather not talk about it, honestly.” Huey said briskly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Yes, sorry. I’ll shut up about it now.” Webby exhaled awkwardly, turning to focus on the classroom at large. It was dimly lit, with maps of the old Roman Empire hung up on the walls alongside charts of conjugations and tenses. The teacher, a willowy crane with a slight accent Webby couldn’t place, walked around the room giving conversation pointers to students. The door hung just slightly open, allowing light from the hallways to illuminate a sliver of the floor. Her eyes flitted onto the clock, which read 8:50. Another five minutes before class was out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we are technically best friends.” Huey stated suddenly. “Since it’s not exactly like we have other people who can fill the spot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby beamed, her eyes shining with happiness. “Alright, new best friend. Ah, this is so exciting! We can do all kinds of cool stuff, like…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tried to think of something they could do, before remembering the exact terms her enrollment at school was under. No staying late, no extracurriculars, be home in time for mother’s lessons, and under no circumstances was she to bring any friends home. In essence, she wasn’t supposed to have any friends whatsoever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not entirely sure what exactly we can do. But we’ll figure out something!” She ended awkwardly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Something. Even if it’s just hanging out in class, it’s one more friend than I had before.” Huey said simply. “Nice to meet you, new best friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bell rang. Webby was hopeful that she might have a whole three classes together with her new best friend, but unfortunately their schedules diverged at third period. Huey was off to a chemistry lab in room 118, while Webby had to go to English. She was pretty confused by the idea-- why would you take a class for a language you already know?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chairs in this classroom were arranged in a circle, unlike the other classes Webby had taken. Was this a ritual circle? Did this school actually teach magic? She decided to scooch her chair out from the main circle, just in case. She didn’t want to have a repeat of getting caught in a binding ritual again. She could practically feel the bile creeping up in her mouth at the thought of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A boy dressed in a light green button up shirt and khaki shorts sat down next to her, his face an expression of frustration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you know that school is supposed to go on for eight whole hours?” He demanded of her, looking positively wounded by the idea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. Did you… not?” Webby asked cautiously, confused by the newcomer. He looked kind of like Huey, if Huey wasn’t so pale and didn’t have the shadows under his eyes all the time. The boy groaned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Evidently I’m the only one who wasn’t informed about this whole school thing!” He griped, slouching in his chair as more people shuffled into the room. “I only have to go here because the old man is forcing me, I can’t believe other people actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to go here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby scooched away from the other kid. “Is there a reason you’re telling me all of this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A guy can’t complain?” He pointed out. “Name’s Louie, by the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He held out his hand to shake. Webby took it, marvelling at how soft his hands were. The hands of someone who’d seemingly never worked a day in his life, completely free of calluses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Webby! Is this your first time going to school?” She asked, curious as to what exactly this kid was like in order to not know how long school had gone on for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, I’ve been in schools, sure. Just not during their operating hours, usually. And usually colleges, talking to archaeologists.” Louie answered her freely. “What about you, Ms. Hair Dye? Are you keen on book learning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Webby resisted the urge to touch at her roots to check where the black dye might be showing, and kept talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is actually my first year, too. I was homeschooled for a while, but recently my mother decided to let me go to normal school! It’s pretty neat. It’s not entirely what I expected, though.” Webby replied. On TV school had a whole lot more murder mysteries and secret family drama. Webby supposed she already had enough family drama to carry a show, but it wasn’t quite the same thing as learning your dad wasn’t actually your dad but Baron von Onyx or something like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well so far it’s been exactly what I expected. Boring, boring, and more boring. Just lower your expectations and you won’t be disappointed, I guarantee you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Webby could reply, the teacher walked in and clapped her hands. “Alright kids, today we’re going to talk about Beowulf!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie sighed and slipped further into his chair, looking like he was already waiting for class to be over.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Louie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this fell off of schedule, I just had to begin work and school, so this fell behind. I'm still working on it, just don't have nearly as much time. I basically started working on it as a pandemic time-filler, so honestly it's been a lot hard to get time filler now that everything is beginning to clear up.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They managed to spend a whole hour talking about Beowulf. It was incredibly, mind numbingly boring. Some ancient Viking guy goes with a bunch of other Viking guys to kill a giant ogre or troll named Grendel to win some dude’s kingdom. He liked the parts where they got the treasure, but the rest of it just felt silly. If this guy had a night guaranteed where everybody was holed up, Beowulf could have just taken the gold then without bothering to do the job. It would’ve been a lot easier and less dangerous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The girl with the black hair dye had spoken up every once in a while, talking about how the book was better read in the original Old English. God, she must have been even more of a suckup than Louie was. He’d made a few comments about how </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting </span>
  </em>
  <span>it was to get such a </span>
  <em>
    <span>historical </span>
  </em>
  <span>perspective.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did that make that, 3 hours now? And he still had like 5 to go. Ugh. He looked down at the schedule Glomgold had printed out for him. His next class was biology, on the first floor. He made his way down the stairs, weaving between the veritable flood of students in the halls. It felt weird, being stuck in the same place with everybody. He had to do this for a year?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie shuddered. Hopefully he could find a way to skip classes without his attendance being missed. Maybe find some sucker who could take notes for him? Hair dye girl seemed like a pretty big nerd. He just had to find six more suckers and he’d be set to slack off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The door to the biology room opened with a distinct creaking noise. The room itself stank of bleach and chemicals, filled with rubber desks and seats that had sinks built into them. Louie sidled into the seat in the furthest back corner, hoping he wouldn’t have to participate too much in class. Bullshitting Beowulf was pretty easy, being able to glean it through context, but biology would probably be a harder sell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie turned from looking at the seagull man shuffling through notes to the other person at his table. A person with an incredibly familiar face, who was looking at him distastefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Sucker nerd number two located,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Louie thought to himself. Violet didn’t seem terribly happy to see him, but Louie had worked with worse circumstances before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Violet! What a coincidence to see you here! How’ve you been? Enjoying your shiny new patch on that sash?” Louie asked ingratiatingly, flashing her a calm smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sniffed. “It got me to my goal of 50 patches for the summer. Not that you made it easy, of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie shrugged. “Hey, what good would that patch be without the added value from hard work? I’m just helping you learn the real lesson instead of handing the patch over to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right, because you’re so enthused about the necessity of hard work.” Violet snorted. “Don’t think just because we know each other a little and we’re sitting at the same table means you can push all the work onto me. I expect you to stand on your own two feet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Understood, comprende, wakarimashita, and so on and so forth.” Louie nodded. “We’ll be two equally hard working lab buddies! You do the research, I do the presentation and convince the teacher our work is worth an A, and we’re all copacetic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My work is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>worth an A.” Violet said seriously, pulling out her purple notebook and a purple pen. Wow, this girl was really color coded, huh?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie fiddled with the wrist buttons on his button up shirt. “Of course, of course. It’s not like teachers are easily distracted and led to believe incompetent people are smart with the right mixture of affectation and flattery. That could </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see your point and am choosing to actively ignore it.” Violet informed him coldly. “Some of us like to believe in </span>
  <em>
    <span>meritocracy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie bit back a laugh. “Please. Meritocracy is what the people on top tell themselves is real in order to justify how they got there. It’s the biggest con the rich ever pulled, and the sad part is how many suckers are willing to buy it. You think that a guy like Mark Beaks got all of his money because he’s such a great and hardworking guy? Hell no!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some might say that hard work is its own reward.” Violet rebutted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then you’re an even worse sucker, because you’re buying into a system without even getting the advantages.” Louie replied sharply. “If some idiot is willing to give you a million dollar investment on a flimsy idea and you can run off with the money, then it’s the idiots fault. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>how Beaks got his money, by the way. And most of the billionaires around today too, either in the past or with parents who were willing to get their hands dirty in order to get the money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet’s mouth twitched imperceptibly downward. “You’re incredibly cynical for a ten year old.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re way too much of an honor scout for a ten year old.” Louie shot back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She grumbled, but didn’t reply, which Louie took as a win. He smirked and leaned back in his seat, swivelling to face the teacher at the front of the room he would spend the next 55 minutes tuning out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Today I thought we’d start with something fun!” The seagull declared in a booming voice. “Dissection is one of the things we’ll be doing a lot of this year, so I figured we should get you all familiar with the process on a subject that isn’t too expensive. I’ve got 17 squids for you to work on in pairs, and expect you to just get familiar with the process.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie watched comprehension dawn on Violet’s face as she turned to look for any other possible dissection partner, to no avail. All of the kids at other tables had already paired up, either already deep in conversation or simply nodding at each other in agreement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grinned as he held out a hand. “So, how do you do, partner?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet reluctantly shook it. “Fine. Just this one time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie held up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender, still grinning. After all, she was delusional if she thought that people were going to want to switch up lab partners once they’d already been paired up and got to know the other person. With one stroke of luck, Louie had guaranteed a sucker to last him through the entire stupid year until he got his way into the inheritance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can go grab the minnow. I’ll wait for you here.” Violet told him, her eyes staring at him like a mining bore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes ma’am. I’ll be back in a second!” Louie acquiesced, stepping away from the table and towards the line that had formed in front of the cart containing all the squid specimens. When he got to the front, he took one of the trays and peered at the thing inside, making a face. A slimy mess of tentacles and gunk was preserved on the tray, two dead eyes flopping outward in a mockery of what the living thing must have been like.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slid it onto the table. “So… what do we actually do with this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We dissect it.” Violet replied simply, stabbing the corpse with a scalpel to release a jet of liquid straight into Louie’s eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sputtered and started rubbing them, trying to wipe the gunk out. “What the hell!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should put goggles on, by the way.” Violet informed him, knocking on the pair she had already strapped on. “Otherwise you might get an infection.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.” Louie grumbled, snatching a pair of goggles from the cubby to his right. “So we just keep stabbing it? I can do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ideally, we’d try to actually learn something through the stabbing, but you’ve got the general idea.” Violet confirmed, slitting open the squid down the middle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie scrunched his face up in disgust. What kind of sick teacher made people cut apart a corpse for no reason?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jeez, if you’re gonna violate a corpse you should at least get some gold out of it.” Louie muttered, poking the thing with his own scalpel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m certain this squid had a wealth of treasure the teacher kept for himself.” Violet replied, continuing to part the clusters of ventricles and nerves that curled through the interior of the squid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t say?” Louie asked, turning to look at the teacher. He didn’t get why the guy would stick to being a teacher when he had the option to be a deep sea adventurer, but hey, maybe the guy was just a sicko. There seemed to be a lot of those in Beagleburg.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I feel like I should clarify I was being sarcastic. I don’t actually think he has a treasure trove of ill gotten gold.” Violet said seriously. “Most likely he got these in bulk from a fishing company.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie sighed. “And just when you’d gotten my hopes up, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet stared at him. Louie stared back, keeping up the eye contact to try and win the little showdown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You actually thought I was serious.” Violet said as if she’d just made the connection. Louie shrugged in response, trying not to give too much away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve seen weirder things.” Simple, implying a background without revealing specific details.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What would be weirder than a teacher having tons of gold and deciding to continue working an underpaid job at a charter school?” Violet asked, her eyebrow quirking up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Somebody who’s over serious and actually piggy backed someone who was clearly faking a leg problem in order to get a patch.” Louie rebutted. “I mean, I’m literally staying with the guy who owns this school. You see some pretty weird stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> are staying with Glomgold Flintheart? Please. If you want to trick people into thinking you’re important, you could at least come up with a better lie.” Violet said dismissively. “I literally walked you to your house. You live in a condo, not a mansion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Believe whatever you want.” Louie shrugged. She was already in a position to distrust him, and he didn’t feel like putting in the effort to prove he was telling the truth. Plus, it’d have a funny payoff later when she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>realize he was telling the truth. “So, are we cutting this squid open or what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet poked the squid again, this time sending a spray of ink towards Louie’s mouth. “I believe we are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie sputtered, wiping the black gunk away. “Hey! These clothes are expensive! I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you even get in without a uniform on?” Violet asked. “There’s rules for a reason about that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turns out old man Barty at the gate really likes being told what a good job he’s doing. Little bit of sweet talk and he let me waltz right in.” Louie smirked as he said it, this time jabbing his own knife in to spray some ink towards Violet. She dodged it effortlessly. “I’m good at reading people. Figuring out what makes them tick, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose I should take that to mean you’re willfully infuriating me.” Violet said, calm as ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, not willfully! You just only like people who are quiet and do work without complaining. Not my fault that’s literally the opposite of my personality!” Louie complained, leaning back on the stool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course. You’re just a born narcissist.” Violet agreed, cutting into the squid’s tentacles now. Weird little veins pulsed through them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A born what now?” Louie asked. He’d never actually heard the word before, but it sounded kind of bad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Vain, self-centered, constantly trying to prop up your own ego, unable to make your own achievements so you have to belittle the hard work of others. Textbook narcissist.” Violet explained, completely unfazed. “And I bet in response to that you’re going to say nothing is wrong with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. Because nothing </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong with me. Not my fault I’m smart enough to figure out how to get through life.” Louie rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that’s why you’ll never get better. Because you can’t accept something is wrong with you in the first place.” Violet nodded. “It’s pitiful, in it’s own way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>so much better.” Louie snorted, trying not to think about anything she was saying too hard. “Because being emotionless and stoic at all times is so healthy for a person. You know, you’re probably just psychoanalyzing me because you don’t want to think about your own problems!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do think about my own problems. That’s the reason why I’m not a narcissist, like you.” Violet replied evenly, not looking up from her dissecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know what? I don’t have to take this from you. I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaving.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Louie said loftily, getting off from his stool to find somebody else to work with. He marched right up to the teacher, who was currently almost asleep at his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey!” Louie’s voice stirred the man from his reverie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that? What?” The old gull turned to look at Louie, his eyes becoming sharper. “Oh, you. You’ve got ink on your shirt, you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know! My partner put it on me on purpose!” Louie said angrily, holding up his shirt for the extra dramatics. “I demand another partner, this is just unacceptable!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gull shrugged. “If you can find somebody willing to switch with you, that’ll be fine I suppose. But you can’t just leave your partner to do this by herself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine! I will.” Louie huffed, turning around to survey the classroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except here he was confronted with the exact same problem everybody else had been-- namely, that all the other people had already been paired up together. Just as much as Violet was stuck with him, Louie was stuck with Violet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slumped to the ground. So much for finding a willing sucker-- he’d probably found the one person in Beagleburg he would never be able to wheedle, swindle, or scam again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, with a horrible realization he thought-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>she and Glomgold would get along splendidly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right there he resolved to make sure the two would never meet. No matter what, that much obsession with ‘hard work’ in one place would only mean one thing. He’d have to actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do stuff.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sigh, he slunk back to the table where Violet was still dissecting the squid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Louie started. “You don’t like me, and I don’t really like you. But at this point, we’re basically stuck with each other. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So, </span>
  </em>
  <span>how about we come to an agreement as people who hate each other?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m listening.” Violet said noncommittally, not even looking up from the corpse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. So, we both have to work together. You don’t want to be dragging me along, and I don’t want to do any work. So how about this-- we split things 50/50, and we don’t ask the other person how they did their half, and we let that be the end of it. Deal?” Louie held out a hand for her to shake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If you get caught for cheating, I could go down with you. Why should I agree to that?” Violet asked, pausing mid-cut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because first of all, I won’t get caught.” Louie held up a finger to emphasize the point. “And secondly, because otherwise we’ll probably try to kill each other before the year is up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a point there.” Violet conceded, finally looking up from her dead squid. “Fine. I’ll trust, but verify.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a yes?” Louie asked hopefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It means we can have a working relationship, yes. A fresh start, try to forget everything that happened already.” Violet reached out to shake his hand. “But if you try to cut corners in a way that makes things fall apart, I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>taking the blame for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine by me.” Louie said, crossing his fingers behind his back. “A pleasure to work with you, Violet. I’m Louie O’Gilt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could say the same, Louie O’Gilt. I’m Violet Sabrewing.” She replied, shaking his hand with distaste. “Now could you please take notes on this eye socket?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Louie swallowed all the words of disgust to give a disgustingly saccharine smile. “My pleasure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was going to be a long, long school year.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Dewey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Beagleburg Public School was not a well maintained building. In fact, calling it a building at all was probably an insult to the concept of buildings. The ceilings dripped, the walls were covered in mold, and the floors would occasionally give out and send some child plummeting through to the basement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In short, Dewey wasn’t having much fun. And not only that, but the classes were boring as all hell. It was a miracle if the teachers were interested in the subject they were teaching at all, and even more of a miracle if any of the students actually learned something. So far, most of his classes had consisted of kids gossiping or fighting while nobody paid attention.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it was lunchtime, which supposedly meant that there would be free food. But given the state of the rest of the building, Dewey was pretty certain that food wouldn’t be very fun to eat. If it was even edible in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He trudged down to the cafeteria, mixing into the crowd. Most of the kids here were bigger than him, and most of them were beagles. A lovely reminder that he didn’t really fit in. Dewey sighed and got in line, picking up a tray so he could get whatever slop was being served.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” A voice that was far too deep to belong to a ten year old spoke up behind him. Dewey turned around to see a kid who was practically a wall of muscle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give me your lunch money.” The brick of a beagle said, holding his hand out. Dewey looked at him in confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought the food was supposed to be free?” He asked, looking around to see if anyone was paying. And they were-- somebody had set up a cash register at the end of the line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You stupid or something?” The other kid said, still holding his hand out for money. “Nobody gets lunch for free except the poor kids. You a poor kid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this… Is this bullying? Are you a bully?” Dewey hadn’t ever actually met a bully before, he’d only seen them on TV. If this was the experience, TV was probably more educational than Don Karnage had thought it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s literally my name, duh. Bully Beagle.” The kid snorted, crossing his arms. “You really are stupid, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just got here. You know, you’re not supposed to be a bully.” Dewey pointed out. “It’s dishonorable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bully narrowed his eyes. “You calling me a sneak, stupid?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I am. So what? You keep calling me stupid.” Dewey said angrily, pulling back a fist. “You gonna do something about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe I will.” Bully snarled, and he pulled his own meaty fist back. “Unless you’re gonna take some words back real quick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gotta stand by your words.” Dewy said, quoting something Don Karnage had told him years ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that Bully let his fist fly, and Dewey ducked the slow blow. Once it had flown over him, Dewey drove his own fist into Bully’s gut, where it landed with a thud. The beagle grunted and stumbled back a little bit, growling. Dewey let out a kick, which went against the kid’s knee. Bully fell over as a crowd started to form around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Knock it off.” A lunch lady called out half heartedly from behind the lunch line, but it seemed that one thing was all she wanted to do to try and stop the fight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bully charged Dewey, putting all of his hefty weight into it. Dewey tried to step out of the way but was a moment too slow, and he got clipped in the shoulder. It wasn’t a clean hit, but it was enough to throw Dewey to the ground. The hard concrete floor connected with Dewey’s skull, and he felt his head spin while trying to get back up. Before he was on his feet, another charge threw him back down onto his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give up yet?” Bully taunted, cracking his knuckles together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey didn’t bother with an answer, instead shoving his head squarely up into Bully’s chin. There was a crack as the boy’s jaw smashed together. Dewey blindly kicked out again, striking the kid in the shin, and then brought his head in again to smack it against the other boy’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a series of cheering whoops as Dewey stood up triumphantly over his opponent. Bully Beagle groaned on the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You give up yet?” Dewey asked, crossing his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy mumbled something, prompting Dewey to lean in closer so he could hear. As he got in closer, he could just about make out the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘sucker’</span>
  </em>
  <span> before a foot kicked him in a very, very sensitive place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey crumpled down onto the floor. There were a couple of dejected ‘aws’ from the crowd around as it started to disperse, people figuring the fight over at a draw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beagle boys never give up!” Bully crowed triumphantly despite his place on the floor next to Dewey.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You cheated!” Dewey grumbled back. “I totally won!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No cheating in a fight. All’s fair in love and war.” Bully seemed to shrug. “You got some pretty cool moves, stupid. Most newbies just get their thumping and move on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I learned from the best. My d-- I learned how to wrestle when I was growing up.” Dewey answered, slumping back down to the cold concrete. “You’re not bad yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve gotta be big and tough if you’re gonna be a Beagle Boy.” Bully said as an explanation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you two just gonna stay there on the floor or what?” This was a new voice, a girl’s, and both of the boys turned their heads in it’s direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously. Should I call the nurse or something?” The girl had brown colored feathers, and her arms were crossed as she cast a green eye over them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just need a second.” Dewey said, starting to get back up. “Man, now I really wish I had some lunch money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a sharp noise of a kick, and Bully let out another grunt. “And how many times do I have to tell you not to pick on new kids? Not cool, dude.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Gos.” Bully groaned. “Just the… family business.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice moves, kid. Usually, I have to swoop in and kick Bully’s ass afterwards.” Gos held out a hand for Dewey to take, and he gripped it. “I’m Gosalyn. What’s your name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dewey. Or you can call me Champopular.” He said, feeling his legs groan as he got up. Gos seemed to be dissatisfied with the answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I’ll stick to calling you Dewey. You wanna ditch this loser and get some food?” She asked him, pointing a finger at the lunch line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still don’t have any lunch money.” Dewey pointed out to her, dusting himself off. “Plus, I lost. I didn’t really earn anything, so it’d be dishonorable to ask you to cover for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn rolled her eyes. “Please. I managed to get a five-finger discount from Bully over there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What!? Hey, I took that money fair and square!” Bully cried from the concrete floor. “You can’t just steal what I extorted from people!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can and will, jerk!” Gosalyn stuck her tongue out at the beagle boy in training. She turned back to the line of people waiting for lunch, and Dewey followed her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, how long have you been here for?” Gosalyn asked. Dewey thought about that for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I guess we’ve been here a couple days. Y’know, pretty last minute.” He told her. “I mean, it’s a neat city I guess.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, it kinda sucks. But I think that’s every city, you know?” Gosalyn rebutted as they went further up the line. “I used to be out in St. Canard, but I’ve been moved around a lot. So now I’m here in Beagleburg.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. That’s where they used to film Darkwing Duck, right? I love that show!” Dewey smiled, pulling himself into a pose. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn laughed. “Yeah, you can’t get away from any of the tourist stuff about that. Nah, St. Canard’s pretty cool. At least, if you live in the right place. But that’s everywhere, right? People who got it made get to be mucking it up with the actors and actresses, and the rest of us just root around in the muck hoping to be one of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I dunno, I think there’s something to be said for helping people up. Sure, they’ve got all of that wealth hoarded away, but people can always take it.” Dewey pointed out. “Like Darkwing Duck. you’ve gotta fight for what you believe in! The world’s not going to get better if you don’t do something about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tough words from the kid who got slammed trying to protect his lunch money.” Gosalyn retorted as the line got closer to the lunch ladies. “If you’re not strong enough to keep yourself safe, then it doesn’t matter how much better you think the world should be. I mean, has everything in your life been going perfect lately?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey’s face fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Thought so.” Gosalyn nodded as they were at the front of the lunchline, two trays in her hands. She held them out to the lunchladies, who slapped down a brownish mix of slop onto both. Gosalyn tossed one of the trays to Dewey, and he caught it half-heartedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at the slop. It was… beans and meat? Of some variety. He remembered eating beans back on the airship, before… everything had gone wrong. Launchpad had always found a way to choke on them. Which would inevitably lead to somebody trying the Heimlich.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somehow, while thinking about the past, he and Gosalyn had sat down. She was looking at him expectantly, as if there was something he was supposed to be doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna eat that?” Gosalyn asked him, tossing him a fork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure.” He took a bite and nearly gagged. “What is in this? Is this </span>
  <em>
    <span>poisoned?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn took her own bite of food with a grimace. “This, my friend, is the best the Beagleburg public school system can offer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey looked down at the food, his stomach growling. “There’s gotta be something better than this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean unless you want to like, invade the kitchen, I highly doubt it. Or a grocery store.” Gosalyn opined, poking at the stringy meat-beef combo on her platter morosely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah! Yeah, we can do that!” Dewey smacked his fist into his palm. “It’s a classic Robin Hood scheme! We take the good stuff and give it to people who need it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, like the kids who don’t have money to eat?” Gosalyn asked him skeptically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, that too, but mostly us.” Dewey replied, stirring his meal around as if that might make it more palatable. “There’s a clear need for survival if this is what they’re feeding us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re intense. I like it!” Gosalyn smirked. “Okay, so let’s say we’re going to break in the kitchen. What makes you think they even have any good food there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, well. I don’t, but there has to be something better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>right?” Dewey repeated. “I bet the lunch ladies hoard all the good stuff for themselves. Then when they’re on break, they eat all of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Completely groundless conspiracy theory, but sure, why not.” Gosalyn shrugged. “We gonna take anything else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey considered that for a moment, then smiled. “I mean, Bully Beagle extorts money from kids on the way in here. But when you think about it, this entire school is doing the same thing-- extorting money from kids so they can eat. So… why not punish some bullies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn laughed. “Now that, I can get behind. But how are you going to get away with it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey frowned. “I mean, I figured I could just run in and take it. It’s not like they can stop me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well sure, the lunch ladies can’t, but what about later? You’ve still gotta go to school. It’s like Darkwing Duck, right? If they catch your real identity, then it’s all over.” Gosalyn pointed out with a jab of her fork. “You, my friend, need an alter ego.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alter ego… he had something for that! “How about Champopular!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Gosalyn with a beaming smile, just imagining how the outfit would get put together. Suave, smooth, tough-- everything for everybody. What wasn’t there to like?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Too wrestly.” Gosalyn shot it down. “This is a name you don’t want tied back to you. The goal’s to keep your identity secret, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh, I’d wear a mask.” Dewey pointed out. “Besides, it’s good to establish a reputation. I want people to think of like, a hero of the people. Not some kinda sinister shadow guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you liked Darkwing Duck?” Gosalyn asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I do! I just don’t want to be scary that way.” Dewy rebutted her. “I want to be… less Darkwing Duck, more Superduck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn snorted. “You just want people to like you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so wrong?” Dewey asked. “It’s better than wanting people to hate me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bold words from the kid who picked a fight within a minute of entering the lunchroom.” Gosalyn retorted, flicking a bit of meat chunks at him. Dewey dodged it with ease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, he started that fight, not me. I’m not going to let people think I can be picked on.” Dewey pointed out. “If you let people pick on you, then they’re going to keep going after you. That’s what Don-- that’s what my uh, coach always said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, your coach wasn’t wrong. Bit cynical, but not wrong.” Gosalyn conceded. “Well, fine. Be Champopular or whatever, just as long as you don’t plaster your face everywhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey gave her a mocking salute, to which Gosalyn rolled her eyes. “Will do, captain.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So, how do you actually wanna tackle it?” Gosalyn asked him, her sight shifting over to the lunch line again. “I mean, it’s not like we can do it during lunch. There’s way too many people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I…” Dewey considered that for a moment. He’d never really been a planning heavy type of guy. He was more of the punch things first, ask questions later type. “I don’t know. Maybe we should try and distract them?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But with what? I don’t see anything that would necessarily be…” Gosalyn trailed off as her vision seemed to lock on something. Dewey followed her eyes to see she was focused on a fryer that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since he’d been born.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh… yeah, that would be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>good distraction.” Dewey agreed. “Plus, it’s so old they’ll probably just chalk it up to age instead of child vandalism!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn winced. “Please don’t say that so loudly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, right.” Dewey winked. “We definitely </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>vandalism!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked at him for a moment. “They really didn’t pack an ounce of subtlety into that brain of yours, did they?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, I can be subtle! I can be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>subtle.” Dewey said with what he thought was an air of suave calm. Gosalyn giggled at the performance, then waved her hand as if to chase some thoughts away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, it’s cool! You’re like a… a little Robin Hood!” She settled on as a term after a few moment’s pondering. “Or I guess more like Little John? I’m not sure how the breakdown with those characters works. Definitely not Maid Marian though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think any of those character’s used swords. I’m a pretty swordy guy.” Dewey pointed out to her. Gosalyn’s eyes lit up with inspiration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wil Scarlet! You’re a Wil Scarlet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey looked at her in confusion. “Who?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He doesn’t get mentioned as much in modern adaptions, but in the old folklore Wil Scarlet was like, Robin Hood’s cousin? He was really good with swords.” Gosalyn explained enthusiastically. “Yeah, that fits you a lot more than Robin Hood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Scarlet. Huh, I’d never heard of him before.” Dewey admitted. “He sounds super cool!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn nodded, then looked over Dewey appraisingly. “You’ve got more of a blue theme going on though. I guess that would make you… Wil Azure?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s probably more up my alley. Man, I’ve gotta find more stuff about Robin Hood. What movie is Wil Scarlet in?” Dewey asked excitedly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I read about him.” Gosalyn said. Dewey nodded, waiting for her to explain what movie she’d read about before watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In a book.” Gosalyn clarified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey frowned. “Like it was a book adaptation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it was in an actual book. With pages. And words.” Gosalyn described with exaggerated slowness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Aw, what! I hate reading.” Dewey seethed as he shoveled down a dirty chunk of meat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn had the grace to feign surprise. “Really? A kid like you doesn’t like to read?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Dewey tried to head that accusation off at the pass. “I just… the words don’t stick in my head, is all. And you just have to sit there and do nothing but keep reading words. It’s dumb.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gosalyn’s expression seemed to shift closer towards concern. “Hey, it’s okay. Maybe I could read the story to you sometime?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.” Dewey nodded. The bell rang hollowly and shrill, driving the mass of students to stand up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright. Hey, meet up with me after school to plan! I’ll be at the main entrance!” Gosalyn as she stood up and melted into the crowd, tugged on it like driftwood on a wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dewey waved at her retreating form and stood up. School still sucked, obviously. But having a friend made it feel way better.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
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